


Trust Fall

by ToxicBabes



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Confessions, Conflict, Emotional Baggage, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrations, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, Intimacy, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Outdoor Sex, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Rough Sex, Self-Acceptance, Smoking, Sparring, Touch-Starved, mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:00:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22813468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: For years, the aftermath of Beslan has left Maxim estranged from his emotions. When he falls hopelessly in love with Timur, Maxim realises he must work through his own personal struggles.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Comments: 76
Kudos: 174





	1. Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with more KapGlaz, been working at this for around a month. A big cheers to Cerosin for beta-reading some of the chapters as well as leaving me feedback and support. It was incredibly meaningful as I'd never had that kind of interaction with anyone in the makings of a story. 
> 
> There is some very slight Glaz/Mute but it doesn't become romantic in any way. 
> 
> A lot of this story focuses on Maxim and his perspective, how he experiences emotions and his overall development as a character which is something I really enjoyed exploring so I hope you guys enjoy reading it. Part of his journey involves his PTSD which is something I'm trying to write while avoiding the entire touchy side of romanticising it because that is not my intentions. In no way am I trying to portray that falling in love = fixes all the problems, and as you'll read on, I think it becomes quite clear that it's not the case.

Those blue eyes were too familiar. Maxim could pick him out in a sea of a thousand men with the same buzzed hair and strong features, but he wouldn’t have to because it seemed like it was the law of nature for both of them to gravitate towards one another. There were invisible forces acting upon them, the same ones that had Timur approaching him when they noticed each others’ presence. He did not necessarily start a conversation, sometimes he liked to just linger closeby and Maxim, as much as he refused to admit it, he enjoyed his company. 

When Timur first joined the Spetsnaz, it was a breath of fresh air. After having been around Alexsandr and Shuhrat for months, their companionship had grown stale like eating the same meals everyday. Alexsandr was warm, though in a suffocating way and while Maxim appreciated him, he didn’t enjoy being smothered in his unwavering optimism. Then there wasn’t much explaining needed with Shuhrat. The man didn’t talk much. He could go days without saying a word if no one spoke to him and that was simply how he was- in ways, Maxim was very much like him but with the two of them combined, they seemed to drain the life and soul from the party no matter how many times Alexsandr tried to pep them up. That was where Timur slotted in too nicely and it felt as if Maxim would never get bored of him.

Timur had an innate skill at navigating conversations like no other. While he wasn’t as bright as Jordan and the other Americans who were known for being social butterflies, he had a way of making Maxim feel as if he was actually interesting, whether that be talking about their careers to reminiscing about the troubles they got themselves into during their childhood. Then on days where the mood was low, he knew when to speak and when silence would be preferred. He adapted his approach to everyone in such a way that it felt personal, even special, and Maxim never realised how satisfying someone’s presence could be until now. 

Shuhrat seemed to like Timur and enjoyed conversing with him, which said a lot. If someone was able to weasel their way into his comfort zone and be graced a place to stay there, then it meant Shuhrat had made up his mind about their new teammate and his verdict was that he certainly liked Timur.

Aside from being an overall pleasant person, Timur was one of many hobbies. As much as Maxim liked to poke fun at him for it, his artworks were beautiful, often abstract yet expressive. When he focused on drawing objects or landscapes, he captured every fine detail without fail and it was always enchanting to sit next to him, watch with an eye peeking over his shoulder as he sketched, completely unaware. His photography was a mystery which Maxim would never understand. Timur liked to snap shots of whatever interested him as they went on their journeys, capturing the memories in small Polaroids and every one he took was with purpose. He didn’t carry much film, but he rarely wasted any. 

There was the occasional time where he would ask, “Can I take a photo of you?” And Maxim was left stammering, not knowing what he should be doing or how to stand. He questioned why Timur would choose him as a subject of his photography, as he didn’t see himself to be particularly dazzling unlike the colourful markets they visited or the grand landmarks that retained a timeless beauty. “Don’t move! You’re perfect.” Rigid as a marble statue, he wondered if he should look into the camera. Timur took one careful shot without hesitation. Maxim figured that was what he wanted from the way he expressed, _‘You’re perfect.’_ with such passion that had Maxim’s entire being radiating a kind of warmth one would feel when complimented by someone whose opinion mattered so much.

Their friendship was kindling but it left Maxim with great confusion. The way Timur made him feel, the emotions he evoked when those minor gestures of standing close by or taking a photograph, had an impact which Maxim hadn’t felt in years. It was troubling at first, Maxim tried to dissect his own thoughts as to why he cared about it to this extent and despite the hours he spent pondering over it, he came to no clear conclusion. 

The images his mind had captured, of Timur’s smile to the way he laughed, the slight twinkle in his eyes when he listened so intently- Maxim pushed all of that away. It wasn’t right, he didn’t want to think of that nor did he know why he was thinking of it. They were just friends and nothing more than that. He told himself to stop making it so weird but it only got more difficult as time went on.

The rattle of gunfire occupied his turbulent mind. It was any other day at the shooting range with a little more emphasis on using a variety of marksman rifles, the kind of weaponry which Maxim never bothered himself with. He absently went through the motions and it was as simple as aim, shoot, hope to hit the targets, shoot again until the magazine was empty. As he reloaded, he sensed there was someone looking over his shoulder. He glanced over.

“What?” He took off his ear protectors and spared Timur a languid smile, wondering why he was watching. “Take a photo. It’ll last longer.”

Timur raised a brow. “So I can stare at you hunched over, half-asleep?” He quipped back then scrutinised the spread of Maxim’s shots on the target, noting how many shots were bordering the edges. “You can do better. Let me help.”

Their gorka suits crinkled as Timur stepped closer and aided him by clasping his hands over Maxim’s. He guided him and held him steady, understanding this as if it was within his muscle memory. The rifle jolted as Maxim pulled the trigger and landed a clean shot centre mass. “Good. Now pace your shots, readjust after each shot,” Timur instructed, his voice barely a muffle but every word he said had Maxim’s thoughts running wild with anxiety. He heard what Timur said, but did not comprehend any of it and he fired his magazine haphazardly, not changing a single thing from before. 

His hands slicked over with sweat in his gloves and he grew too aware of how his tongue sat heavy in his mouth. Next thing he knew, he was thinking of everything but the advice he was given. Timur’s touch was electric and the sensation of his light breaths ghosting over Maxim’s nape nearly made him shiver. Now he was at the mercy of the hands which were grasping onto his forearms so firmly, the warmth from Timur’s body pressed up against his back.

“Focus, Maxim.”

“I can’t when you’re spooning me, man.” Maxim’s style of humour was always cheeky and crass, the essence of his being. They exchanged mutual grins and Timur backed off with his hands up in the air, feigning that he had been caught in the crime. “Take me out to dinner first, yeah?”

“I’ll treat you to dinner if you take this seriously,” Timur chastised in a playful tone, a grin toying at his lips. 

Before their superiors caught them slacking off, he gave Maxim a nod then slinked away to oversee how the recruits were progressing. Maxim stood with an air of haughtiness around him, somewhat impressed at Timur’s gall to put him in his place, and his eyes followed Timur when he paced down the walkway only to stop every now and again to make minor corrections to form and technique.

Though he did consider what Timur said and decided it was best to wake up, put a little elbow grease into the minor amount of work he needed to do. For a while Maxim focused on cleaning up his shots and the ability to do so was always there, hindered by his own sloth. He couldn’t enjoy the rhythm of a slow-firing marksman rifle if he tried, it required patience from him that didn’t come easy, especially when it came to firearms. Most of his engagements were always closer and the concept of picking off a target from three hundred metres away wasn’t his preferred method of dealing with a hostile. 

After some time, Timur returned. His expression was expectant and the tiny smile that bloomed on his face filled Maxim with triumph when he inspected his targets, pleased at the clusters of shots grouped neatly together.

“So, I’m thinking of barbecue ribs tonight,” Maxim brought up, spurred by the small chuckle he gave. At the suggestion, Timur nodded too enthusiastically and he made a noise in agreement, the thought of it alone was enough to make him cave. “God, I’d kill for a nice rack of ribs and a beer.”

As they were caught up in their small discussion of what they should eat in eight hours’ time, a soldier jogged up to them. He wasn’t amongst the group who were at the range, but rather one who had been doing his duties back at the base and was told to send a message. 

“Alexsandr wants to see you two,” he said between huffs and puffs, but did not say why. Timur and Maxim looked towards one another and exchanged the same thought. Were they in trouble? “He said it was important.”

The walk back was quiet. Neither of them were one for speculation- or rather, they did not fuel each other’s speculation by talking about it. Of course they were concerned with the matter at hand, even worried in case it was disciplinary. There were only so many possibilities as to why they would be called away in an emergency and Maxim knew Alexsandr took these kinds of things seriously, he would not put them in a position like this unless it was necessary.

A soldier escorted them to the small conference room. Shuhrat and Alexsandr were already there, seated with briefing files in front of them. Two other files were placed by the empty chairs and a woman motioned for them to sit. Guards in suits stood stationed at the sides of the room and it was lucrative, like a scene from a spy movie and Maxim entertained himself with the idea of it. 

The woman introduced herself as the deputy-director of a reactivated counterterrorism unit named Rainbow. 

“The four of you have been selected amongst the elite to join Rainbow. My advisor, Harry, believes you are best suited for the job and if you accept this offer, you will play a crucial role in representing your nation and working alongside others to combat rising threats to our safety,” she spoke, each word as cold and calculated. Her eyes studied them, observing their reactions to be hesitation or nervousness. “Details of this promotion will be in those files. If you wish to opt out, it is essential that you notify your superiors as soon as possible. Although I hope to be working with you all very soon. It is a shame I can only stay for so long but this was the time I had allotted.”

They weren’t there for long before she stood to leave and as she passed, she looked readily at the both of them with a small smile on her face as if to tease their punctuality. Maxim sensed they missed the majority of the meeting, maybe he glossed over an important email that morning. Alexsandr stood and shook her hand. “And we will not disappoint, ma’am,” he told her firmly and offered her a warm smile. In response, she returned the gesture to be polite then promptly left, followed by her entourage. 

As the door closed, Maxim flicked his file open where he discovered documents addressed to him. Confidential this, confidential that, do not disclose to anyone else- part of himself scoffed at the seriousness of the entire thing. Then as he continued to read through it all, he caught onto a detail. Rainbow’s base of operations was in Hereford, England. If he were to accept this offer then it meant travelling abroad. He wasn’t foreign to this practice but after being settled back in Russia for so long, he was reluctant to leave again.

For Timur, it was a no brainer. Perhaps it was his youth or his wanderlust but he didn’t think about it for too long before he made up his kind, nor did he understand why Maxim mulled over it. 

It hadn’t been long since they had dinner, yet Timur was craving something sugary already. They walked for twenty minutes after a hefty amount of convincing that he knew the best place in the city to find some dessert at this time and Maxim yielded, unable to say no especially after Timur implored him so many times. The cafe they sought shelter in was eccentric to say the least, compact yet homely, one of those kinds of places where authors and aesthetes like him would be drawn to. 

They were seated at a small booth and given their menus. Maxim turned it over in his palms a couple of times then he smiled, nodding towards the little candle on their table. 

“Cute,” he commented and studied the pieces of art lining the brick wall. There were artificial plants lining the rafters, fairy lights illuminating the dark space as the smooth drawls of a female singer echoed from a vintage speaker. From the atmosphere itself he knew this was somewhere that Timur adored, it had all the little enrapturing details. “Feels quite uh… romantic.”

Timur’s eyes flicked up at him from where he studied the menu then the corners of his lips tugged upwards into a relaxed smile. “Of course, the first date has to be special,” he joked back in a teasing tone, eating up how Maxim rolled his eyes and tried to not look too flustered. “There’s Black Forest gateau, your favourite.”

They placed their order after a couple minutes of browsing what was available. Then when the waitress drifted off, Maxim turned his gaze down the aisle of booths and spotted the singer sitting on a small stage with an acoustic cradled in her arms. He watched her for a while before he noted Timur, the small twitch of anticipation in his lips when he wanted to speak.

“You’re not seriously thinking of turning it down, are you?” He asked and raised his brows in genuine concern, searching for answers on Maxim’s face.

Maxim held back his laughter but he couldn’t hide his own grin. “Hell no, this is… it’s good. I just feel homesick already,” he said and let out a woeful sigh. He cracked his knuckles as he stretched and Timur cringed at the pop of his bones. “When you get to my age, everything becomes a giant hassle and when the hassle is moving to _England_ out of all places, you get a little cranky.” 

“You’re not _that_ old,” came Timur’s reassurance, spoken in an absentminded sincerity. He clasped his hands over one another comfortably and swept the view around them. “It’ll be a good opportunity to meet new people, go to places, and I’m sure the pay will be good. It’s not like you’ll be barred from coming back here.” 

It made sense. He would advance his career then retire in a cosy apartment in Moscow with a generous pension, that were the goals Maxim set a long while ago except recently he became complacent with his position here, reluctant to move elsewhere. This promotion offered that momentum and to turn it down would be the greatest regret in his life, every instinct in his body told him so. 

They sat back as their desserts came with their drinks. The waitress set down the mugs of hot cocoa, wished them a good meal and left promptly to serve others. Maxim stirred his drink a couple times before he spoke, “I’ll take it for sure, don’t you worry.” And he snagged his fork from the table as Timur motioned for him to take a bite of his cake. It was better than he expected and enough to make him forget the fuss he gave when Timur was insistent that they should come. 

Some of the simple pleasures in life were indulging oneself in sweet treats and Timur knew how to enjoy himself. He smiled at Maxim’s reaction and graciously accepted the maraschino cherries he picked off.

* * *

One would think with the prestige that Rainbow held as a revived counterterrorism unit, they would be able to afford better accommodation for their operatives, yet when they arrived and settled in, their rooms were not too much better than the dorms they received at any other military base they’ve stayed. Aside from being a little more spacious, the rooms were for two and the beds not too far apart. It became quickly known to all the operatives if they desired any sort of privacy, they ought to sort out private living arrangements.

The upside of being packed together in the barracks, socialising wasn’t hard at all. It wasn’t as if they could leave work, drive home and ignore each other. For the first weeks, there was a constant exposure to everyone else and no matter where they went to escape, there was always a chance of bumping into a colleague trying to do the exact same. So many names to keep track of, all the nationalities became a blur in Maxim’s head but to his surprise, his English wasn’t as rusty as he expected it to be.

Most of the time, he kept to himself. There was no one in particular that drew him in. Perhaps James although the man was too loud and expressive, it was clear British blood flowed through his veins and while it was entertaining, Maxim preferred to avoid the noise. Dominic was friendly enough, they occasionally bummed cigarettes off one another, sat together outside the barracks in the evening for a smoke yet none of their conversations went anywhere. They knew each other but it would be hard to classify them as friends- colleagues at best.

Then Timur, who dipped his toes into every small friend group, had nearly everyone’s names learnt from day one. It was difficult to pinpoint where he stood, as one moment he could be laughing away with Jordan and Miles then absorbed in something mind-itching with a very much eccentric Marius. He thrived in the new environment and at one point Maxim feared he was losing grasp on their friendship. In particular, it was Mark who threatened him the most.

The two of them got along too well and he had no idea why or how, but Timur had his ways to make quiet people talk. Though from eavesdropping, Maxim concluded that he wasn’t quiet but rather, he loathed small-talk. One of his redeeming qualities was the fact that unlike the other members of the SAS, he could go a day without mentioning the weather. Like Maxim, Mark was also enamoured by Timur’s ability to discuss nearly any topic under the sun, from the mundane history of this town to deconstructing the process of creating art. It wasn’t that they had a million things in common that brought them together, they simply enjoyed the company of one another.

Despite all the new friends, Timur still had a natural inclination to follow Maxim around. They ate lunch together in the canteen in quiet conversation no different than usual but when Timur’s attention piqued to something else, Maxim couldn’t help but notice the inviting smile that appeared on his face. Timur waved Mark over and then came along the rest of the SAS, invading their table with their boisterous mannerisms. Maxim witnessed their discussion and he began to wonder if like how Shuhrat and Alexsandr’s charm began to wear off, that he was also growing stale for Timur. 

“There’s this place that opened up like two weeks ago, I heard it’s pretty good. D’you wanna go after work and we’ll check it out?” Mark suggested, speaking louder than a mumble for once and the look on his face was expectant.

Timur perked up. “Yeah, sure,” he agreed, perhaps touched that someone would invite him to something that went on outside of work. Everyone was still warming up to one another, trying to find their ground, so the offer came as a surprise. 

That was how Maxim realised he would be spending the evening alone. Not that he minded, it was just odd being by himself and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel lonely. Loneliness wasn’t the only emotion stirring in him. As he reflected back on earlier, he found himself growing irritated when he recalled the sound of them chattering away, laughing at some lighthearted banter and the general exchange repelled him. This was jealousy in its purest form and Maxim didn’t want to be this way. Timur wasn’t _his_ and despite that, he didn’t want to share him with anyone.

Why was Mark so keen to be his friend anyways? Maxim scratched his stubble as he lay in his bunk, one hand swiping away at his phone and his thoughts churned in his head, around and around his mind like a motor purring. There were numerous possible reasons, but the only one that stood out to him was the potential that Mark was attracted to Timur. He considered how Mark talked to James or Seamus and found that there were slight differences. For one, he smiled a lot more. Then there was an absence of sarcasm in his speech which was unlike the Brit whose natural response to anything was to be slightly patronising.

The clock read eleven o’clock. They left at six, so by now they would've finished dinner long ago unless Timur had managed to persuade him to detour, craving sugar. No, if it were any other restaurant, he would’ve ordered dessert from the menu there as well. Where the hell were they? Maxim locked his phone and placed it on his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. Without any distraction, the thoughts he was trying to keep at bay were now overflowing. 

Images of them kissing, lips wet and hands roaming and touching all over invaded his mind no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else. This wasn’t right. They were his coworkers, two _men,_ one of whom he regarded as a close friend. To imagine them doing that was blasphemy to their friendship and Maxim was disgusted with himself.

The bed frame squeaked as he got up. With haste he made his way to the communal bathroom and turned on the tap, haunted by the thought of two bodies pressed together, skin against skin and the breathy sighs, moans that echoed. The cold water against his face helped bring him back to the present then he looked at himself in the mirror, analysing the sight of him as he stared back with droplets running down his neck, the gaze of a man disturbed by his own dirty ruminations. 

Though that was the least of his worries. His trousers hugged around him too snuggly and he glanced down, realising that not only had those thoughts even entered his mind, but they aroused him. 

He needed to take care of this.

* * *

  
  


Some of the operatives at Rainbow designed and developed their own gadgets, while others worked alongside technicians, engineers and scientists to create a gadget that would aid them on their operations. For Maxim, he preferred to create his own traps. It was always better, in his opinion, to use something that he was familiar with. While he often consulted others on optimising the design of it, he tinkered with his own prototypes and tested a variety of traps. There wasn’t a whole lot to do during his downtime, so in the early afternoons he found himself alone in the workshops.

Even with the task at hand, nothing could lift him out of the rut he got stuck in. He was troubled. Not only could he not fathom the fact that he had masturbated to the fantasy of his colleagues having sex, it was that they were both men and that had never even been something he considered to be titillating of any degree. He could tell himself a million times it was wrong but no matter what he did, it could never change the fact that _this_ did happen. Why? The more questions he asked himself, the more flustered he became and his palms became slick with sweat. His body felt hot all over as he skittered around trying to dissect his mind as to why he it was possible for him to get off to it in the first place. 

The sensation of a hand clasping onto his shoulder shook him out of his thoughts. The components he had been holding together slipped from his grasp and clattered across the workbench. As he caught some screws before they rolled off the edge, he glanced up and caught Timur’s tired smile. It was impossible to look him in the eye without horrible flashbacks to last night, so Maxim focused on his gadget.

“Brooding again, I see,” Timur said and took a seat near him. He crossed his arms across the surface and rested his head on his toned forearms, his inquisitive gaze watching with catlike interest as Maxim screwed down the external casing of his trap. “Didn’t mean to wake you up last night.”

The only response Maxim knew was to raise a brow and pretend he wasn’t impressed at all. “You had to bump into everything on your way to bed, hm?” He hummed under his breath and set aside the first prototype. Then he gathered the components for the next and began to carefully assemble them. “How was your date with Chandar?” 

Timur paused at his diction then let out a small sigh. “Let’s see… we had dinner, then we had a couple pints at the pub. What the hell are you trying to get at?” He let off a short chuckle to defuse the situation but it was clear he wanted clarity as to why Maxim chose to describe it like a date. 

The shrapnel was loaded into a small chamber that would provide the destructive power of the gadget, but the compact nature of the trap meant everything had to be placed precisely. Maxim fiddled with it then swore under his breath as a sharp edge tinged his thumb red with blood and he sucked on it. “What?” He paused again and inspected his injury then looked up at Timur. Timur looked back readily, but his eyes flicked down to his thumb and he shifted in his seat as if to retrieve the first aid kit, then he didn’t move. “You don’t see it? The way he talks to you, how he even looks at you-“

“Jesus, man. It’s not like that,” Timur interjected, perhaps with a little too much urgency that sprung an alarm in Maxim’s head. Had he not been occupied with his bleeding thumb, he would’ve spared Timur a look of doubt. “I’m not into him- we’re just friends. I mean, I sure as hell didn’t see it that way, I’ll tell you that.” 

Too frustrated and sore to continue fidgeting with something Marius could do for him in under five minutes, Maxim motioned for them to leave. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” he reassured him with a teasing smirk that said the exact opposite. 

Their walk back to their dorms was silent. Maxim didn’t have to even look at Timur to know he was busy thinking and he always liked to joke that he could hear the cogs in his head turning. He made a beeline to laze atop his bed while Timur slinked into the room behind him, almost reluctantly then he sat on his own bed and seemed restless. He looked towards his small sketchbook for a couple seconds as if he desired to do something that would occupy his hands but then he decided against it. 

Now would be an excellent time for a nap. Afternoon sun streamed through the tiny, foggy window of their dorm, filling the room with an embracing warmth and the ambiance of the empty barracks when everyone was out and about with their functions created the optimal environment to peace-out for a couple hours. Maxim cracked an eye open and he glanced over to Timur to see that he had laid down as well, blinking at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. Then they made eye contact and Timur studied his expression, gauging something.

“He… he- uh, we kissed- no, he kissed me,” Timur told him and Maxim couldn’t decipher if it was an admission of guilt, but either way the information had the fog of sleepiness in his head clearing up in an instant. “We had too much to drink and then when we were walking back, he kissed me. I said I wasn’t into him, because I’m not, but I feel like shit now.”

Maxim felt as if there was a glitch in the matrix and a morbid entertainment came from this newfound knowledge. He cleared his throat as he thought of what was appropriate to say. “Was he upset?” He probed for more information.

“I couldn’t tell. Embarrassed as hell, I can say that.” Timur let out a sigh then groaned, rubbing his palms into his face to comfort himself. “He’s such a nice guy but… _fuck.”_

There were many things to unpack from this and Maxim figured he would need an entire evening to himself to pick it apart. For now, he tried to preserve the conversation in his mind. “Less than two months here and you’re already breaking hearts,” he commented and laughed, hoping the lighthearted joke would ease Timur’s mood and it did, but slightly. “My, my, Timur.” 

In ways, this was a victory for him. Mark’s blunder could very well mean that their friendship would be stuck in an irrecoverable state of polite smiles and awkward conversations, especially after such rejection. Then what piqued Maxim’s interest more was that Timur didn’t ever deny that he was gay, but rather he chose to express that he wasn’t romantically interested in Mark. Perhaps he was comfortable enough with himself that he didn’t need to make it explicitly clear, but Maxim found it interesting alongside his tame reaction to the incident. 

Although what Maxim never expected was to look at Timur and somehow end up imagining him kissing other men as if he was starring in softcore pornography. When it wasn’t Timur doing inappropriate things then it was just _him_ and his proportionate features, that strong jawline and the way his eyes almost dazzled when he spoke to Maxim. This was some sort of fucked-up curse that he had to live with and Maxim had no idea how to remedy it. There was no way he could avoid Timur either and no amount of convincing could shift his stubborn mind. When he considered that he hadn’t ever thought of a woman in this way, Maxim began to realise that this wasn’t a minor issue.

 _This isn’t me,_ he had tried to make himself believe. Though through the thick denial he submerged himself in, he dreaded to confront his reality.


	2. Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxim recalls a past that haunts him, Timur tries to repair a fractured friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but still building up to something. Next chapter will be spicier.

The past lingered with Maxim like the acrid scent of cigarette smoke, always there no matter what he did or how he tried to hide it and on these nights, his memories returned to him once again in the same, cruel manner. Sometimes he woke up drenched in cold sweat, other times he would wade his way out of his dreams feeling completely unsettled. Tonight he emerged from his nightmare gasping like a fish pulled out of water except not only was the air of reality inhabitable for him, the suffocating nature of his dreams were just as deadly. Oh, how he wished to be gutted with mercy.

The thin blade of light that slipped through the cracks in the doorframe illuminated the room, alongside the dim glow of the outdoor lamps that hung from the edge of the barracks’ roof. Maxim’s throat was stiff and tight as if his body was readying to vomit and he blinked a couple times at the ceiling before he turned his gaze towards Timur’s bed to find the man awake, watching him. 

Exhaling with a shaky sigh, Maxim reached for the tank-top he discarded at the foot of his bed and slipped it on as he sat up. “Did I wake you?” He asked, his mumble a quiet croak and if he dared to strengthen his voice he feared his composure would shatter. Timur responded with a hum, but he wasn’t bothered by it. “Sorry- bad dream.” Maxim motioned towards his head where his thoughts were still storming. 

As rational as he could be with distancing himself from what went on inside his head, Maxim learnt a long time ago that he had very little control over how his body liked to respond to it. Of course he was aware of his surroundings, and despite that his heart hammered on inside his chest to transport as much oxygen as possible to his muscles, the adrenaline coursing through his veins urged him to either fight back or run, then his stomach churned and constricted, leaving him nauseous. He buried his face in his palms and sucked in a deep breath through his nose. 

Closing his eyes didn’t help, it only made the projections of his memories more vivid at the back of his mind. Yet when he tried to focus on the small analogue clock sitting on his bedside table, his body filled with a horrible sensation like one of Jordan’s fucked-up science experiments where all the chemicals were violently reacting, spilling everywhere with ferocious energy and unlike the American, Maxim couldn’t scramble for a fire extinguisher and put out the fire in his head. 

“Here,” Timur’s soft voice spoke through his turmoil and Maxim looked up to see him offering his water bottle. He accepted it and took a sip before handing it back, fearing that he may throw up if he ingested anymore. “You’ll be okay,” Timur reassured and gave him a sympathetic look. “Feels like shit but you’ll get through it.”

Restless now, Maxim reached for his fleece jacket and pulled it on. “You should go back to bed,” he told him, hoping if he masked his unease with a facade of stoicism, that his fear would also go away as well. 

Although as he slipped his shoes on, Timur also got up. He accompanied him to the steps of the barracks and the air was bitterly cold, but perfect for Maxim. He settled down on the icy concrete and produced his packet of cigarettes, thumped it twice on the heel of his palm before taking one for himself and one for Timur. Next to him, Timur pulled the hood of his jacket to warm himself as he took a careful, small drag from his cigarette. He choked a little and cleared his throat.

Maxim sucked in the nicotine as if it were his lifeline but it didn’t help. His muscles were still tense with agitation and his head was beginning to hurt. He ran his fingers through his hair and itched at his scalp before he glanced towards Timur who was still perched next to him, huddled up against the cold. 

“I don’t get it.” As Maxim sighed, his breath caught in his throat and he choked on the smoke, spluttering and coughing harshly before he managed to compose himself. A wavering hand reached up to scratch his scalp again as if his skin was crawling all over and he bounced his leg, completely restless with an uneasy energy. “God, the days when I think I’ve moved on, but you never really forget the smell. Stale piss in a warm gymnasium, hauling c-corpses of dead kids and your own damn colleagues in body bags.” Smoke coiled out from the gap between his lips then the rest he expelled from his nose. He tapped off the ash and his lips trembled before he forced them into a thin line. A horrible taste sat on the back of his tongue. “Jesus… all those kids, that little girl. I didn’t get there in time- I could’ve done something but she- she was bleeding so much. I-I just-“ and in a sudden, defeated tone, he admitted, “I didn’t know what to fucking do.” He stilled his hands by clenching them into tight fists and his face contorted in anguish the more he thought about it. Squeezing his eyes shut, he bowed his head and tried to rid those images from his mind.

Then he looked towards Timur with an uncanny clarity in his gaze, eyes glossy all over but he was nowhere close to crying. Brows furrowed, his thin lips were curled into a snarl as he steeled himself. “You would be f-fucking _astonished_ at how much children can bleed, Timur. Drenched me-“ he sucked in a harsh breath as if the very thought of it pained him. “-to the damn bone and the feeling of it on your skin, when it dries and congeals. Shit’ll fuck you up for years. It did for me. It still does.”

The cigarette pinched between Timur’s fingers was smouldering away. He had hardly smoked it before Maxim’s speech had distracted him and when Timur realised he no longer had an appetite for it, he gave it to him. “It was a tragedy, something that was wildly out of control,” he tried to remind Maxim, constructing his sentences with a cautiousness that stemmed from great care. The image in Timur’s head reminded him of his own past, the battles he fought before, and he understood the emotions that devoured Maxim from within. “Everyone lost a lot that day, including you. I know what it’s like, to feel so angry and frustrated, even distraught at what happened. You’re not alone.”

While Maxim had heard those familiar words a million times before, it was somewhat comforting to hear them again, especially from Timur. It was a rational reminder of his circumstances and pulled him out from being submerged in his headspace. Although, what he felt, the result of his body releasing all these chemicals and signals, could not be controlled that easily.

He swallowed thickly, nodding in understanding as his leg continued to bounce like a idling motor, his body vibrated with uneasy energy. The urge to run still lingered within him like an echo, reverberating off every surface inside him and if he wanted, he could go for a run and he would jog until his breath tasted of copper, not stopping until his shins ached with every footfall. 

“You don’t have to stay here. It’s cold,” Maxim told him but Timur did not move, so he waited a little longer and savoured his second cigarette, the crease between his brows easing. In a desperate attempt to focus on anything else, he asked, “Why are you here?” 

“Because… because you’re my friend,” Timur said and his expression was ardent, even when he gave a shrug in attempt to be nonchalant. The sentiment wasn’t extravagant, it never was between them but it was always there. “And I care about you.”

Hoping the shift in their conversation could provide ample diversion to his mind, Maxim cocked a brow and attempted a lighthearted smile, but all he could manage was something that was less of a frown. “Hm? All I seem to do is tease you then annoy you,” he pointed out, his voice still just as brittle as it was but he tried his damnedest to sound a little better.

Timur put a hand on his back and rubbed it. “Believe it or not, you’re actually very caring,” he told him and chuckled when Maxim rolled his eyes in disbelief. “And I like being around you. You keep my homesickness at bay.”

What did this mean? Maxim questioned if his company was so familiar that Timur regarded him to be _home_ and the idea of that had him honoured. He valued his honesty even if it meant piling more for him to think about later. When Timur tucked his hand back into his pocket, the absence of his contact left him alone with the ill feeling that had been plaguing him since he awakened and he craved for him once more. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for quite some time and Maxim crossed his arms over his chest, holding himself as he tried to gather his thoughts together. There was too much to unpack, all the weight of his baggage keeping him anchored on the icy steps of the barracks. Even then, this was not new to him, but the same recurring dreams coming back to torment him. After all these years, he never knew how to deal with them. 

It was barely five o’clock and at this time, the entire base stood still in deep slumber and the grounds were still dark. When the winds grew fiercer, Timur shivered then he shifted and stood up. He placed his hand on Maxim’s shoulder again and squeezed it, giving him a careful look.

“I’m going back inside, don’t stay out here for too long,” Timur said to him with a nod, his brows furrowing upwards in concern. His footsteps receded then the door behind Maxim closed with a click.

* * *

  
  


The facilities at Stirling Lines were a world of a difference from the old Hereford Base they used for training. Labs, workshops, plenty of new technology to keep everyone busy. What relieved Maxim the most was that there were elevators. He couldn’t imagine having to work in the previous base, having to climb flights upon flights of stairs just to get to a meeting as they were doing now. The thought of it alone exhausted him even more than he was already and he was still trapped in the heavy fog of his headspace.

The elevator paused and opened. To their surprise, it was Mark and the rest of the British unit. He and Timur stared at each other for a good second before James pushed Mark in.

“Don’t be shy. C’mon, no one wants to take the stairs,” James said and squeezed him in until he was nearly sandwiched between the two Russians. The small space of the elevator was nearly suffocating now and it strained under the heavy load, stalling as it slowly rose. “Seamus, you might have to get your fat arse off the lift or we’re not gonna make it.”

“Fuck off.”

It was like the universe knew what had happened and were now playing with them, putting them into these god awful situations for sadistic entertainment. They were too close for comfort and Maxim could spot where Mark missed a couple hairs whilst shaving. Then he stole a glance at Timur, his stony expression holding back any kind of reaction but Maxim could read him too easily, and he saw how there was panic in his eyes.

Mark was equally uncomfortable, unable to look him in the eye. “Morning,” he greeted the both of them out of courtesy but his tone was curt and businesslike, no longer bright with familiarity. 

“Good morning.” Timur spared him a glance and a polite smile before he returned to staring holes into the metal wall of the elevator. 

The two of them were visibly uncomfortable and suffering from a humiliation which no one aside from Maxim also knew about. The more he studied them, the more tiny things he noticed, like the difference in their heights and the minor compromises they would have to take in order to kiss- Christ, what had gotten into him? He bit the inside of his cheek and pushed away those thoughts, mentally scolding himself for it. 

Yet he continued to discuss it with himself. It was a morbid curiosity, he tried to justify it as he considered how at a glance, no one would ever suspect Mark, or possibly Timur, to have an attraction towards men and the more Maxim looked at Timur, he was compelled to question it. He couldn’t fathom how it was possible that one could consider copulating with someone of the same gender, but humans weren’t like other animals of the kingdom. Sex wasn’t necessarily driven by biology- the need and instinct to procreate for survival. They were grotesque beings capable of the strangest things, even heterosexual people had their odd interests. 

It was difficult to focus during the meeting. A mixture of exhaustion from being woken up early to an unruly mind which he couldn’t tame, whether that be quelling his intrusive fantasies of his colleagues or the general ill feeling he had for the entire day. 

As the presentation continued on, Maxim pretended to take a read at the briefing file and as he shifted his gaze he took a detour to look at Timur who sat near him, then across the table to Mark. They had been looking at each other a couple times throughout the hour, exchanging signals which neither of them quite understood but hopelessly wished the other could read. 

It was surprising how two grown men were capable of acting in such a juvenile manner, like two teenagers one of which had a crush on the other and they were painfully aware of it. When the meeting concluded, the entire room flooded to the only exit and the bottleneck had them separated, scattered within the crowd. The last Maxim saw Timur, he was speaking with Mark and his expression seemed serious.

Maxim returned by himself to the barracks and as he turned down their corridor where a row of dorms aligned one wall, he spotted figures by the stairwell. One was sitting on the stairs, the other leaning against the railing. As illicit as it felt, possibly betraying to Timur, Maxim chose to eavesdrop behind the concealment of a wall.

“You wanted to talk to me,” came Mark’s soft reminder. His voice was small and defeated. “About what?” 

“About the other night. I just wanted to make it clear that we’re still cool, y’know? What you did was pretty brave and it’s flattering, really,” Timur said, his heavily accented English echoing down the hallways. “And I’m sorry for making this so awkward but I still want to talk to you. I still want to be friends, that is, if you want to.”

There was a brief pause then Mark let off an embarrassed chuckle. “I fucked it,” he said, words muffled where his palms cupped over his face and he inhaled until every crevice of his lungs were filled then he forced himself to look up at Timur. “It won’t be the same again, you know that. All because I had one too many and thought it was alright. I should be sorry.”

Their words are chosen carefully and they tiptoed around the situation as if it were a sleeping beast. “Don’t be. It’s always better to take a chance than spend the rest of your life wondering about the outcome, hm?” Timur always had comforting words at the ready. Then he smiled into himself and acknowledged the truth. “Of course things will be a little awkward, but hey, that’s life. Just don’t run away from me, okay?”

Mark responded with a hum to indicate he heard him and they stared at one another for a prolonged amount of time. The air was heavy between them, still under tension and from where Maxim peeked, he wondered if this was like one of those crappy romance movies where they would start making out. Although they didn’t. Mark stood up and tucked his hands into his pockets as he glanced around. “Promise,” he affirmed then his thin lips curved into a gentle, docile smile. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, nothing unexpected from a man who had just been torn down once again, reminded of his misunderstanding. “Let’s just… not bring it up again. Pretend it never happened, yeah?”

“Deal,” agreed Timur and they laughed over it in such a forced manner that Maxim nearly felt physical pain witnessing the whole ordeal. If he had a gun, he would put everyone out of their misery, including himself. “I’ll see you around, Mark.”

The patter of Mark’s footsteps became quieter as he headed up the stairs while Timur paced down the corridor back to his own dorm. As he approached the door, he noticed the tip of Maxim’s foot jutting out from where he stood. He froze and let out a sigh.

“Seriously?”

Caught red handed, Maxim stepped out and shrugged at him, sauntering up as if nothing had happened. He watched as he unlocked the door then followed him in. 

“You two are so dramatic,” he commented and he was caught in the gravitational pull of his bed, immediately drawn towards his mattress where he sprawled himself across. “Should’ve let the guy die in peace.”


	3. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxim gives into his desires and bargains with his conflicting thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee bit of a two-in-one special. There's a reason why this isn't tagged as slow burn because everything was doused in gasoline and set on fire to begin with.

It was frightening how often Maxim thought of him, much to his dismay. Timur permeated throughout his life and dipped into his daydreams more often than he would’ve liked. While he relied on Maxim equally as much, Maxim wasn’t used to the entire practice of checking up on one another so Timur’s minor acts of bringing him a drink, or waking up to ask if he needed someone to talk to, came as something totally new which he instinctively wanted to respond to with a guarded hostility. Though he couldn’t. He didn’t have it within his heart to push Timur away like that, nor did he want to let him in so close.

He didn’t understand why Timur cared about him so greatly. Perhaps it was because he never had a friend who would go to those lengths for him but everything Timur did always left him with mixed signals. He suspected something was off, mostly because never in his life was he so unsure about anything. With other people he never had to question their motives, even with women who were particularly friendly. It was always easy for him to figure out what someone wanted, but Timur was an anomaly.

It was amazing how one human being could send him spiralling into both distress and euphoria at the same time by just being physically present. Timur had awoken something inside of him which he wanted to suppress so desperately, but he knew that if he wanted to appreciate their delicate friendship he needed to accept a degree of it- But it wasn’t right, his entire life he had known this to be wrong and his brain screamed out that his behaviours were unnatural. 

He struggled with himself for weeks. Bouts of anger, confusion, deep turmoil that he buried more than two decades ago came swinging back to hit him square in the face. It was the kind of overwhelming emotion that made him want to punch a hole into drywall, break everything in a frustrated rage. Why was he like this? What did he do to deserve this crisis? What the hell was wrong with him?

There was no solution to this either. He couldn’t just avoid Timur and hope the lessened exposure would reduce his urges, they were around each other pretty much daily and truth was, Maxim liked him around. If it meant years of battling his own feelings, so be it. Timur brought him joy, breathed life into his routine and if it weren’t for him supplementing his evenings with their obscure conversations, his life would’ve been no different than Russia before they met. 

In their free time, they ventured their way to the gymnasium. Timur wanted some help with close quarters combat and there was no one more familiar with a blade than Maxim was, so the two of them sought out a free afternoon to do a couple drills. They set up a few mats to brace any falls and fidgeted with their training knives, too busy chatting to remember their objectives. Then after a couple minutes, Maxim reminded him that they ought to do something rather than waste time before someone else needed to use the facilities.

“Be mindful of your footing,” he critiqued after pausing in the middle of a drill, motioning at Timur’s left foot. “It’s important to maintain a good, strong foundation. I could’ve easily taken you down by just pushing you over.”

Timur responded with a smile and a nod. Between deep breaths, he unzipped his hoodie and tossed it aside, revealing his tank top that hugged his torso. “Right. Try again,” he proposed and readied himself. 

They struck, parried and dodged around one another, occasionally getting into a tight scuffle until one of them released the other to give them a chance. Of course Maxim was taking in how he moved and responded to his strikes but he couldn’t help but notice the way Timur’s toned arms were glistening with sweat and the contours of his muscles were so visible under the warm glow of the lights in the gym. He snagged Timur’s wrist as the blade went for the throat then he restrained him, throwing him down onto the mat. 

Timur grunted and recovered from the blow, panting as he looked up at Maxim for advice, or was he waiting for him to chastise again?

“Utilise the rest of your body,” Maxim reminded him and beckoned for him to stand. “The goal is to immobilise your opponent, not stab him. Use your fists, your knees, everything. Don’t neglect it.”

As Timur took on his words, sometimes he would forget. Whether a slip in his footing, blocking in a clumsy fashion or forgetting to brace for a punch, Maxim punished him for his faults but he was patient. The body had natural instincts to respond to fight and a large part of learning close quarters combat was overcoming the psychological barriers of wanting to flinch or run. No matter how many times he failed, Timur didn’t give up. It was clear he was frustrated, but he persevered.

Maxim felt his mind slipping. He parried a strike and rebutted with a jab that Timur blocked last second, grinning with determination and he backed off to catch a breath before returning with a dozen blows much harder. In the close proximity, Maxim could see the way his muscles bulged, feel the hardness of his arms and he picked up a hint of his deodorant. Timur’s physique was no different to the marble statues of Greek gods, perfect in proportions. Then with every strike he blocked, he gave a soft grunt and as he narrowly dodged the blunt edge of Maxim’s blade, a sound escaped from him that had every thought in Maxim coming to a screeching halt. 

Timur capitalised on his distraction. One blow to the face had Maxim stunned and wavering on his feet, then Timur swept Maxim’s legs out from under him and the momentum of his body crashing into the training mat knocked his breath out.

Straddling Maxim’s torso, Timur pressed the blade to his throat where his Adam’s Apple bobbed, basking in his triumph as they caught their breath. Then when their eyes met for a moment too long, he froze and eased off, allowing Maxim to push himself up on his elbows.

“Sorry,” Timur said breathily between great pants. Locked in, it was impossible for him to tear his gaze away.

The sounds of their inhales and exhales reverberated through the large space. The air was still with tension and in that very moment, Maxim noted the small space between them. Mere inches. Timur was unmoving and he stared back, waiting for something to happen but he himself would never initiate it. Then it clicked. 

Timur would never do anything to him, not unless it was on Maxim’s terms. 

All it took was one impulse, telling him to close the distance. Maxim pushed aside every afterthought that this could be wrong and focused solely on his desire, his hunger- his  _ need  _ to have Timur and feel his body. It was an aggressive, ugly kiss. The kind where teeth bumped and hands grasped, clawed into the fabric of their shirts. It was a world of a difference from kissing a woman. Timur was not soft at all, the stubble along his jawline was rough and scratched like sandpaper, his scent was masculine. His body was hard and firm where his muscles were thick, full of strength and vigour which Maxim had never considered to be so attractive. The sounds he made rumbled from deep within his chest, a needy yet contented hum. 

Kissing him was like taking a hit of a drug that Maxim never knew would be so fatally addictive. Now his blood thundered in his ears and his head whirled in disorientating circles, all he could focus on was the ebb and flow of their lips moving against one another. Timur had licked the blood from his lips where it had been split from the blow and their tongues tasted of iron, all they could breathe in was the stench of their sweat and the pungent odour of the musty training mats. 

Timur’s hand moved, now with a newfound courage from where it had been balled up in Maxim’s shirt hem to cup his cheek. His smooth palm brushed along the defined edge of Maxim’s jawline, going on to caress his overgrown stubble with a delicate touch as if he was fragile china. 

The new contact brought Maxim back to the unpleasant reality he faced. 

He inhaled sharply as if the action had been too intimate, flinching like Timur’s hand had shocked him. He snared his wrist in a defensive manner, fingers pressing into the pressure-points hard enough to make Timur hiss in pain. “Stop-” Maxim suddenly choked out in a rasp, eyes wide and fearful then his own anxiety had strangled his next words before they could leave his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Timur responded with only a look of confusion and his expression became marred by dread, realising that what had happened was not well received. The second they severed their eye contact, Maxim rose to his feet in a sharp rustle of his tracksuit bottoms and he escaped through the double doors. 

For a moment that was so ethereal yet fleeting, it left both of them lost and frightened. Frightened for what they had done to their friendship.

* * *

  
  


They went days without talking. 

Timur returned to the cosy fraternity of his British colleagues and put on a facade that everything was alright, that their friendship was simply waning but unlike the moon, deep down he feared that Maxim would never return to him. As for Maxim, he sought desperately for solitude and found it twelve feet away from Shuhrat in the silent workshop. There he worked alone for several days, sometimes he did nothing at all but pretended to browse on his phone while he sifted through the thoughts in his head.

Every time he returned to his dormitory, there was a definite chance Timur was either sleeping or absent. He rarely caught Timur awake and in one place at a time, especially after what happened. When Maxim spotted the lump that was Timur’s body laying ever so still in bed, he knew he wasn’t sleeping. Mostly because Timur never slept facing the wall, always on his back with his mouth agape. 

It was the fourth day when Timur finally said something, but he might as well not have spoken at all. The stifled small talk was meaningless to Maxim but he responded in the same tentative manner, keeping his answers terse and to the point just to avoid any prolonged interaction. Despite their reluctance to talk to one another, Maxim hadn’t gone more than a couple hours without thinking about their kiss at least once. 

He would never dream of doing such a thing. Yet here he sat, having done what he knew to be abominable to his own beliefs. This wasn’t a simple mistake one would make as if it were a reflex to stimulus. He did it out of free will, with thought and consciousness put into the action as much as he refused to believe. There was no external force acting upon him, he was under no influence other than his desire. But  _ this isn’t me,  _ right? His body burned with self-loathing and conflicting thoughts clashed and reacted with an intensity that made Maxim pray he would find solace from this mental agony. Timur was the deadly catalyst. 

While he did not want to be  _ this way, _ he wished he was able to live with it, come to peace and maybe compromise with it. It this, it that. Even admitting the matter at hand was his sexuality could make him itch all over with insecurity and during these times, Maxim wasn’t sure he could afford an identity crisis. Though Timur would be there for him, he would understand and help him if it did happen, that was what Maxim was sure of. There wasn’t an alternate timeline or a parallel universe where Maxim felt deserving of him. Timur was too generous and his heart gave, gave and gave to their complicated friendship no matter the circumstances.

It was late, past the point where the sensible urge to go to sleep became replaced with a learned helplessness to continue thinking into the night. He listened to the whisper of their breaths and once in a while he picked up the sound of someone walking by their door, muffled conversation of perhaps a recruit or one of their colleagues staggering home from the pub. The silence was the perfect medium for his imagination to cultivate all kinds of images.

He shifted in bed and cast his gaze across the room, cautiously so, towards Timur’s bed and found that he was definitely asleep. His blanket was half-way off the bed, only partially covering his hairy legs where his shorts rode up high on his toned thighs. As perverted as Maxim felt about his actions, he continued to stare and he studied his still and peaceful form. His mouth parted and he drew in a breath, sighed it out and stirred in his sleep but he never woke. Maxim found himself fixated on his lips. 

There it was again. The kiss. He recalled the softness of Timur’s lips during the heated interaction and this time his memories did not come to haunt him, but to taunt. The thoughts that followed were a symptom of a greater problem Maxim faced, one which he pushed away for now. 

His hand dipped beneath his covers and wriggled under the waistband of his briefs then he grasped his firming cock, tensing all over at the sensation against his sensitive skin. What if it had gone further beyond a kiss, perhaps the hand that caressed his cheek could’ve pulled down his trousers, wrestled his boxers off and those very lips could’ve left a trail of kisses down his abdomen, pressed another so delicately onto the scar on his hip before taking him in.

Maxim tried to steady his breaths in fear of waking Timur up from making unusual noises. He was painfully aware that Timur was a light sleeper, sometimes walking past his bed too quickly could rouse him from his sleep. 

_ What the hell am I doing? _ Maxim squeezed his eyes shut and furrowed his brows. Now wasn’t the time to question the morality of his actions, he just wanted to get it out of his system. So he stopped trying to suppress the very taboo fantasies that had been incubating inside of him and allowed them to take flight. As he touched himself he substituted the fact that it was his own hands and imagined it to be Timur’s. In fact, he yearned to feel Timur again, even a gentle brush of contact, anything to satiate the hunger inside him.

Maxim’s mind swarmed towards the memory of Timur straddling his chest. The weight of his sturdy body, the same body that Maxim could easily overpower if he tried and he knew precisely how to. The idea of Timur in his lap, or perhaps hoisting him up within a tight embrace, pressing him against the wall of the gymnasium and- 

Air. Maxim needed air. He’d been holding his breath for far too long. Restraining himself from gasping out and sucking in another sharp breath, his gaze snapped across the room to Timur and he exhaled as slowly and discreetly as he could. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. It would be tough to explain if Timur woke up right this instance. Though the man appeared to be in a deep stage of sleep and he did not stir once.

From his observations, Timur didn’t seem like one to be too aggressive. Maxim eased his grip and slowed down, focusing on what was pleasurable, where he was particularly sensitive around the head and as he’d teased himself, the bed springs squeaked under the weight of his body shifting. It was hard to keep quiet. He exhaled as steadily as he could then drew in another breath as he stroked his cock, now beginning to realise that the fantasy of Timur’s lips around him was much more enticing than any pornography he had consumed in the past months. 

He’d always thought Timur was a handsome man, very proportionate features and a dazzling gaze which struck everyone the first time they laid eyes upon him. And now with what Maxim was doing, the thoughts he aroused himself with, he wondered if he enjoyed the idea of ravaging and dominating such beauty to claim as his own, or if it was the possibility that Timur could also derive gratification from getting him off as well. 

It felt shallow to use him, Maxim didn’t want to. As he paused to push down his underwear, the image in his mind had evolved. Now Timur was touching himself as well, his hard and leaking cock dripping all over his hands and as he lapped and sucked, his hips thrusting into his fist. The more turned on Timur got, the more desperate he became and Maxim bit back a moan when he imagined how Timur’s throat would constrict around him and the muffled choking noises that resulted from it.

The closer he inched towards his climax, he abandoned the attempt to mimic a gentler touch. He needed release and it was much too risky to prolong this experience as badly as he wished for it to last. Maxim choked on his breath as he came and his ejaculation soaked into his tank top in thick, white stripes which were stark against the navy cotton. He panted softly, sprawled on his thin mattress with his pants around his knees, a cum-stained tank top hugging his torso and a metric tonne of shame sitting on his mind. 

When he had properly returned to reality, he looked down and grimaced at the mess he made, but he was completely and utterly exhausted. Then he turned his gaze across the room and found Timur was still asleep, oblivious to what had gone on less than six feet away from him. It would be impossible for Maxim to explain why he was half-naked with his softening cock out at four o’clock, covered in his own ejaculation and pitying himself for what granted him sexual pleasure. Seeing Timur asleep, physical and real in front of him made Maxim almost nauseous at himself. It made matters worse now and he wondered how he could live with this cursed experience.

The heat of anger encroached, rising through his body to give him grief on the same sentiments that he had already mulled over many times before, all the reasons why it was all wrong, wrong, wrong and how he needed to find himself a good woman to expel these urges. Except deep down, Maxim didn’t want any woman. He just wanted Timur.

As to why this was the case, he couldn’t provide an answer. Yet the more he thought about whatever the hell was  _ wrong _ with him, all he uncovered was that he was grossly curious at the idea of having sex with another man and the thought of it aroused him greatly. It appalled himself that he would indulge his mind in such things but part of him knew that his curiosity would get the better of him.

He wriggled out of his shirt and used it to wipe himself clean then he tucked himself back into his underwear, promptly dropped it by his bedside and fell asleep in begrudging disgust at what he had done.


	4. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can only avoid each other for so long. Timur confronts Maxim.

Shuhrat wasn’t a bad friend at all, but with their combined stoic nature, Maxim knew their friendship would never develop past lighthearted banter. No personal conversations, no interesting stories of their past experiences and they kept each other at an arm’s length away at all times. Although, this was okay. Sometimes it felt more secure to be unknown to someone else, especially with what Maxim hid, he didn’t want anyone digging around in his head. And he himself knew some details about Shuhrat that he was certain the Uzbek would never share with him. Possessing that knowledge felt illicit, but they fostered a level of respect between each other that they wouldn’t tell a soul.

The quiet chatter in the workshop provided some comfort to his worrying mind, a laid-back discussion about some TV show which Shuhrat and Marius had taken a keen interest in. Dominic was there as well, listening along but he wore a disinterested look as he drummed his fingers on the surface of the workbench like a thought had just slipped by him or his body was sending him distress signals for some more nicotine. At some point they had wanted to step out for a smoke break, but Shuhrat was insistent that they could light one in the workshop. There were only the four of them here, no one had any objections so they propped open the fire-door and continued to talk.

At some point, Maxim tuned out. It became background noise and he worked away with a cigarette sandwiched at the corner of his lips, focused on his task. Before he even knew the evening closed in fast and the Germans left to take some time to themselves. He looked around and spotted Shuhrat nursing a mug of something warm. Their eyes met and Maxim sauntered up, wiping his dirty hands on his shirt. 

“I was thinking of doing something mechanical, less explosions and no electronics,” Maxim spoke up, hoping Shuhrat’s expertise and background in engineering could conjure up something interesting. Shuhrat smiled at the challenge and picked up a pen, thought about it for a while before he began to draft something. “I like the idea of a bear trap, but more discreet. Say, ever seen a snare trap?”

“Eh, might’ve but I’m no hunter. You know this better than I do.” Shuhrat hummed under his breath and drafted a rough sketch, wrote down some possible dimensions. They talked about it, exchanging ideas and concepts but it was clear that there was something the matter with him and Maxim found it difficult to read him. As Shuhrat started another concept on a different page, he glanced up at Maxim, seeming to consider if he would be too nosy if he were to ask such a question. “What happened between you and Timur? Did you two fall out?”

Maxim shrugged it off, realising the drawback of a one-on-one conversation was that there was no room to hide. “Not really,” he said but it didn’t convince him at all. In Shuhrat’s defense, the answer he gave was too vague, obvious that he wasn’t willing to provide an answer, especially when he was never one for beating around the bush. With his teammates, Maxim was always frank with them but this time his aim wasn’t to deceive but to avoid the question entirely. “He’s been hanging out with Chandar and Porter a lot, we haven’t been talking. Just happens, I guess.”

“That’s strange. He’s glued to you like a duckling who has imprinted on the first person it sees,” commented Shuhrat and Maxim’s paranoia told him he knew far more from the glint in his eyes. Although they maintained the distance between them and from how Maxim had receded into himself at the initial question, Shuhrat knew he was getting too close. He respected his desire to keep certain things private and backed off, but with the shadow of a grin on his face. “Let me know when you two kiss and make up.”

Those words were a splash of ice-cold water down his neck and Maxim stared at him for a second too long before he also chuckled back and nodded it off cooly, recovering from the shock of mere coincidence. While he smiled languidly and leaned against the workbench, his hands slicked over with sweat and the pace of his heartbeats quickened. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured and relief poured over him when Shuhrat checked his watch, raised a brow in surprise at the time. “Done for today?”

“Yeah, it’s getting late,” Shuhrat said and then he slid the papers across the workbench, tearing himself away from the previous topic that made Maxim itch all over. Did he know? Maxim couldn’t tell, but he was sure as hell glad he was getting out of this situation. “Make sure to turn all the lights off when you’re done.”

The door closed with a click and he was alone in the large workshop. Maxim refused to allow his anxieties to control him so he picked up the rough schematics and studied them, readying to set off for some more work. Between the whirr of machinery and the therapeutic activity of creating, he lost himself as he made the prototypes of the snare traps. 

The initial test went well, but the wood material did not prove to be sturdy enough for the force of the prey nor the mechanism itself that would tighten and retract the wire once the trap had been set off. While his initial concept was based on a traditional trap, what he was manufacturing was much more complex, intended to immobilise and prevent the enemy from fleeing. He began to make a version out of metal that should be more durable and it took a considerable time to shape the casing.

The clock struck twelve by the time he finished, and even then this was a very rough model. He hauled it to the testing chambers and pondered to himself how he could make it lighter. Setting up the trap involved anchoring the compact casing to a wall or a doorframe, then pulling out the razor wire noose to a desired length, locking it in place and the rest was just a waiting game.

All the trap needed was to latch onto anything that could trigger enough force. Signature of the Spetsnaz style, this gadget was certainly lethal. It could maim easily and the barbed wire noose made it difficult to remove from flesh. The mechanism within the trap leered in the prey once triggered and the force of struggling alongside the tension in the wire would tighten it until it sliced through muscle and tendon. As for the practicality of the gadget, it would have to be further assessed but Maxim was impressed by it. 

“Smells like cigarettes in here.”

He jumped and the taut wire in his grasp slipped along the back of his hand from where he was trying to secure it down. The thorns caught onto his flesh. The mechanism, unfixed, gave off a seething hiss and the wire shot back like a recoiling python. There were multiple, large gashes along the back of his hand and it looked like he had been mauled by a beast. His singed nerve-endings seared with pain and he cursed loud enough for the reverberations to echo down the corridors.

Timur rushed to him in the testing chambers. “Jesus Christ!” He took Maxim by his bleeding hand and gathered the blood in the cup of his palms before they splattered onto the concrete. They hastily returned to the workshop and Maxim held his hand over the sink while he watched Timur pad it with paper towels. “What the hell were you doing?”

It wasn’t like Maxim to become queasy at the sight of blood and he was accustomed to it, but this time the sight of his trembling, mangled hand had him lightheaded along with the adrenaline coursing through his body. “Testing something,” he muttered and squeezed his eyes shut at the roughness of the towels against the incisions. “Don’t- I’m okay-”

“You are out of your mind,” Timur interrupted, the tone of his voice was strained and he grimaced when he peeked at his injury once again. “Fuck… we should get Gustave.”

“No, it’s late.” Maxim earned himself a well-deserved glare and he inspected his hand, biting into his cheek as he did so. “It just looks bad, I’ll be fine. Really.”

Bewildered, Timur did not speak for a second then he tightened his grip around his hand and dragged him towards the doors of the workshop. “We’re going to the infirmary,” he decided and Maxim was in no position to fight back. They rushed down a maze of hallways, taking lefts and rights. In his current state, Maxim was hardly able to navigate and he was glad Timur was leading him there. “I went looking for you… you’re usually back before twelve, even when you go out to drink.”

“Why bother?” Maxim was testing his luck, perhaps the blood loss was making him delirious. The infirmary lights blinked on and illuminated the room in a clinical white. 

Timur sat him down then searched the cabinets for supplies. He gathered some dressings and located a disposable suture pack. “Got curious,” was his response after way too long and he returned to the examination table Maxim was sitting on and laid everything out. “I’ll make a mess of this,” he stated. 

Maxim’s blood painted the water red as it splashed into a small metal basin. “I’ve got plenty of scars, another couple won’t hurt my image,” he gritted between his sharp inhales. His expression was contorted in pain but all the drugs were in a locked cabinet. “Just keep going.”

Despite the training they received in first-aid and the countless times he had sutured Maxim’s wounds in the past, Timur was overcome with reluctance. He furrowed his brows and meticulously washed his hands, slipped on a pair of gloves then prepared the needle. With one hand cupped over the back of Maxim’s wrist to secure him in place, he inspected the site. 

“Doesn’t look too deep, hopefully there is no significant damage but I’m no doctor,” Timur spoke in a soft, concentrated tone and the needle sank into the edge of the first gash. Maxim tensed but he tried to remain as still as possible. “The only thing I know is that your hands are delicate things. All those tendons and sinews control every fine movement.”

The sound of his voice was soothing. He then worked in silence, taking great care not to dig too deep or pull the suture too harshly. Maxim appreciated his gentleness and looked down to study his face, how his lips were parted slightly in a careful attentiveness to keep the stitches neat and tidy. Then Maxim noted the warmth that radiated through the nitrile gloves and how it spread up his arm. There was an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. Whether that was from his body reacting to the intense pain or to the contact, he didn’t want to know.

His gut churned with the distinct discomfort of guilt. If only Timur knew what he did with those hands, what his mind fantasied doing- doing to _him_ especially. While he couldn’t refuse Timur’s help, Maxim suffocated under the disgust he felt towards himself, hypoxic from all of it. His thoughts could kill him.

“So, this is what you were doing the past few days… avoiding me?” Timur questioned with a raised brow and his gaze flicked up to take in the look on Maxim’s face before returning to his hand. It was difficult to pinpoint if Timur’s tone was passive-aggressive or if his question was just an amused statement.

Maxim’s breath hitched in his throat. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” he said, overcome with the urge to justify himself. “I just- fuck! Easy… I needed some time alone. And you, you’re a hypocrite. _You_ were avoiding me.”

Two more cuts to go. It didn’t help that the pain had him restless. Timur wished he could tie Maxim down to make him sit still but instead he pulled back for a moment to allow Maxim to recover from the painful ordeal. He stared back at Maxim before shaking his head in denial, not uttering a word so Maxim continued when Timur returned to inspecting his hand.

“It’s wrong. It’s- it’s not right,” Maxim found himself saying, squeezing it out between hushed grunts of discomfort but now that he was verbalising his thoughts, it felt as if he was trying to convince himself of it and he questioned if he truly believed in what he was saying. The stinging pain shot up his arm but the conversation between them kept him distracted from it.

He raised his eyes and caught how Timur’s lips curved into a thin, troubled frown. “But this is who you are, no?” Timur proposed, sounding oddly calm although he was aware of what he was doing. He wanted to challenge Maxim’s beliefs, perhaps to implore him to be more introspective.

The question was almost threatening to Maxim. His instincts told him he had to leave, that this was not the conversation he wanted to have. Although with the vice-grip Timur had on him, there was nowhere to run. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted then he steeled his expression and stated, “but I- we can’t do _this._ We can’t be like this.”

Timur’s hand on his wrist became uncomfortable even though nothing had changed. In the same way storm clouds could eclipse an entire valley in darkness within seconds, Maxim’s mood shifted and he no longer wanted to be touched. He wanted to recoil from him as if Timur’s hands were hot iron but he couldn’t. 

He listened to Timur’s sigh, exasperated but still maintaining his patience. “This is not Russia,” Timur reminded him and the muscles in his jaw were tense. He avoided Maxim’s gaze as he applied the dressings around his hands. Was he wounded by Maxim’s response? “We’re miles away from home, it doesn’t matter. No one will know. You don’t have to hide like this.”

Instead of trying to sympathise or navigate the topic in a composed manner, Maxim’s body flared hot all over with annoyance. He didn’t enjoy the emotions that stirred within him but it was his natural response to such matters. “Then what happens when we go home?” He asked in almost a snap that made Timur flinch at the sharpness of his words. He questioned once more, but in a reserved tone. “What then?”

The dressings were done, neatly secured but Timur held onto his hand and did not let go. Neither of them noticed, too caught up in their prolonged silence. The dilemma they faced had no happy ending and they couldn’t forecast the consequences. While Timur wished for their realities to be different, he considered what Maxim said and wasn’t able to give him a response. 

“And I treat you like shit, Timur. It won’t change. What do you see in me?” He paused after the rhetoric and swallowed the lump in his throat, wondering where to go next with the silence. Timur sat in front of him with a downcast gaze, still clutching onto his hand in the same way a child would hold onto their bear. For comfort. “If this is who you are, then so be it. But I…” He could preach for days that he did not deserve one minute of Timur’s time at all, but then they would be sat here until sunrise and the words were painful to even think of, nevertheless spoken to the man he wanted to both hold so close but push away at the same time. Though his issues went beyond whether he was deserving of Timur. “I can’t live like this. And _we?_ We’ll go back. This never happened, everything will be as it was, okay?”

Both of them knew this was not possible. It would be like piecing back together fragments of shattered glass. This was not something they could brush under the rug and forget about, Maxim could not help but to envision their kiss every time he looked at Timur’s face. Maxim wondered, in a decades time, when he might have settled down and had some children, would he still look back on this day and remember how he took the heart of the man he loved and cast it into the fire?

Timur’s touch burned him to his bone. Maxim stood to leave, but Timur held on tighter with one hand holding his wrist, his other palm reached upwards and came to rest on his clavicle, his fingers splayed across the flesh of his neck. His thumb was almost stroking his Adam’s apple and the pad of his index finger just above where Maxim’s blood thundered in his arteries. His hands were warm but Maxim still stiffened and he refused to look him in the eye, knowing Timur was pained. Maxim’s hands flinched in reflex and his breath hitched, he gripped Timur by his shirt when the younger man inched closer.

“Don’t,” Maxim warned but it sounded more like a plea and deep within he begged Timur not to make him fall harder. Although Timur did not listen, he refused to. It was the law of nature, the same reason why a natural satellite orbits a celestial body, drawn into its pull. Their foreheads touched and Maxim had never known such a short distance to feel light-years away. He couldn’t bring himself to act upon this distance and conflicting thoughts clashed. To kiss Timur again was a tempting thought, but he did not want to enable himself to the behaviours he saw to be wrong.

The sensation of Timur’s breath ghosted over his lips and Timur’s blue eyes glimmered with tears when he took in Maxim’s expression, hoping his gaze could caress Maxim’s cheeks and gather him together within his arms. “Please,” Maxim implored once more and shook his head. It took everything to summon the strength to push Timur away and he did so, feebly with a hand planted against his sternum where his heart drummed.

Timur eased off, but he stood between him and the examination table and it was enough to keep Maxim anchored where he stood. “You want to know what I see in you?” Timur repeated after him, his voice wavering but his tears never shed. He wouldn’t let them, too frustrated to allow his sadness to overtake him. He prodded his index finger against Maxim’s chest. “A man, moulded by his experiences and beliefs, too stubborn to let himself grow, but deep down he knows he is so much more than what he says he is.” 

And it was frighteningly true. Maxim did not let his recent discoveries of who he was to surface and he buried them deep within himself where it grew like invasive weeds in a cramped garden. Now the flowers of his attraction for Timur were spilling over the rusted iron fences of his steel facade in a frantic, desperate battle for light. Maxim could no longer hide his burden, he had been starved for so long. “And I love that man. I don’t know why but I have fallen in love with him.” As Timur swallowed thickly, the thin line of his lips trembled. He drew in a sharp breath, face contorting in visceral agony. “But… you’re not him. Right, Maxim?”

He did not know what to make of this admission, the question that followed it or the fact that Timur could feel so close yet distant at the same time. It left a horrid aching in his chest and the more they talked about this, the worse it got. Timur reached to touch him again. “Don’t do this to me- let me go,” Maxim squeezed the words out, overwhelmed by his own emotions. At first, Timur did not listen so he repeated, “Timur, let me go.”

Timur released him, realising there was no other way of convincing him to change his mind. Though as he did so there was a burning anger in his expression, from his tensed jaw to the way he would never allow his tears to fall. He held his breath, wounded from the rejection and _frustrated_ that Maxim did not see in the same light. While Maxim’s thoughts were barely coherent, he knew the truth was frightening and painful.

He wished Timur would’ve made it easier for him, that he didn’t beg for his love, for him to acknowledge who he truly was. It took every morsel of strength for Maxim to push past his unmoving body. The force of the harsh collision reverberated through Maxim’s body, threatening to collapse the wavering integrity of his heart. Love was an elating emotion to feel towards someone else, but in times like this, it brought the worst pain he had felt in years.

His footsteps echoed through the spacious infirmary and he focused his gaze on his reflection within the glass windows of the double doors. Behind him he saw Timur’s defeated silhouette, his deflated shoulders and how he watched after Maxim, praying something would change his mind. 

“Is this what you want?” Timur asked as Maxim reached for the door. 

It wasn’t. In a perfect world, Maxim would not be afraid to love him, but he lived in a reality where the world was far more harsh. He grew up in times when people like him were vilified and lived in danger. It was quite the same for the both of them despite their age gap, the difference being Timur found solace in the cover of a Western country. 

This was Timur’s salvation, a place where he could find love without the fear of repercussions, without the risk of his family discovering who he truly was. Though wherever Maxim went, he couldn’t escape his own thoughts. Regardless of his desires and how strongly they consumed him, there was an emotion that dwelled in the darkest corner of his soul and it controlled him. It would not let him love Timur, not under the pretense that what they had was _unnatural_ and disgusting. 

Yet despite that, Maxim had never felt more alive because of this attraction and never had he been more conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh that maxim dude is a real prick wtf


	5. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the heat of the moment, Maxim and Timur focus solely on their urges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't obvious by now, this is *the* NSFW chapter. The world's biggest shout-out to Cerosin for not only helping me beta-read this chapter, leave feedback, but also taking the time to produce an absolute masterpiece of an illustration for this chapter. Please do check out her [twitter](https://twitter.com/cerosin_bis), she draws some gourmet shit nam sayin

They regressed, but it wasn’t the same. For weeks they did not speak of the accident. Timur did not bring it up nor force the conversation, knowing the only result of it would be fierce denial and Maxim would inevitably flee the scene. He didn’t want him to run. So they tried their hardest to pretend that their friendship was back in order. Times managed to slip by when they held a conversation like before, but then the second they allowed a moment of silence and their eyes met for a fraction of a second too long, the atmosphere immediately soured with awkwardness. 

It was one of those odd mornings where the shatter of gunfire snatched Maxim from his sleep. He jolted from his bed, jerking hard enough for his bed frame to make a horrid screech and he struggled to peel off his duvet like a patient trying to wriggle out of a straitjacket. Once he was freed, he relaxed and tried to gather his thoughts as his chest rose and fell with great magnitude. He blinked at the ceiling a couple times then turned his head to look over towards Timur’s bed.

Timur was awake and staring, sat upright in his bed with his pillow and back against the wall. He had his sketchbook propped up in his lap and the sudden disturbance distracted him from his drawings. When he realised that there was nothing to be concerned over, he withdrew his gaze to his page, having remembered that Maxim didn’t need to be coddled- or rather, he preferred not to be.

After sometime of wading his way through his thoughts of what was on the agenda today, Maxim reached for his shirt and pulled it on, hastily getting dressed. At the small sink on the far side of their room, he brushed his teeth and stole a couple glances at Timur through the mirror. He couldn’t tell if the neutral expression on his face was an indicator of a bad mood or if that was just how he always looked when he was concentrating. The more he thought about it, he began to consider perhaps he had gotten too accustomed to seeing Timur’s smile and his gentle looks.

“Have you eaten yet?” Maxim spoke up and broke their silence as he fidgeted with his electric shaver. He clicked it on and the whirr of the blades filled the room.

“Not yet.”

“Why?” He raised a brow, giving Timur a confused look because it was late into the morning, then Maxim focused on making himself look tidy. The electric razor never gave him a close shave, always leaving behind a heavy shadow where his stubble grew in a bit patchy. Timur had assured him in the past that it was endearing and he took his word for it.

Timur closed over his sketchbook. “I didn’t want to sit in the canteen by myself,” he admitted and by the time Maxim was packing away his shaver, Timur was slipping his shoes on. 

They left their dorms promptly before ten o’clock. There wasn’t a whole lot of time before training but enough to catch something to eat. At these hours, the canteen was almost empty. Most of the operatives at Rainbow who desired privacy lived off-base while others would’ve gotten up ages ago instead of leaving breakfast to the last minute. Though for Maxim, he didn’t bother with hunting for a place to rent nor did he adhere to a religious routine of getting up early for the gym. 

Black coffee, a bowl of thick porridge and the sound of rain pattering on the foggy windows was enough to put him in a sour mood. Maxim propped his head up and nearly grimaced at the horrible weather outside before he decided he much preferred to stare at Timur instead. Easier on the eyes. It was the simple act of watching him pick at a fruit salad while his other hand was occupied with his phone and he scrolled along, looking disinterested. Despite that, the sight of him was a soothing one, one which made Maxim forget how hellish training would be later, even for a brief moment. 

Though Maxim could not have him. It was his tragedy, the short end of the stick he received from life at the expense of maintaining his values. One may propose that there was no point in living a moral life if it was devoid of happiness to which he would not be able to answer. Though when he imagined if he had said yes and professed that his feelings were mutual, that he loved Timur ardently so with no doubt about it, Maxim was overwhelmed by his own shame every time.

He could never admit it, but to love Timur was terrifying.

To even think of it brought such strong emotions and they controlled him, overpowered his consciousness with disgust and hatred towards himself. His yearnings would not come without his own mind tormenting him but his heart ached to physically touch him again, to feel his skin but maybe in another lifetime he could be within his arms. For now Maxim didn’t have the strength to endure the pain of it all. 

Any attempt to bury this was futile and he was left with the heavy burden of so clearly knowing how he felt but being unable to act upon it. It was an insatiable hunger- or rather, an urge to consume something which he couldn’t stomach even if the taste of it was sublime. His body would reject it in the same way it burned all over when Timur touched him but this sensation, this burning pain, released endorphins and he craved for them.

He focused his mind on their training. The dreary weather eased but it was still spitting on them as they went through drills upon drills, working with colleagues who came from places with different protocols and practices. Sometimes it was frustrating and communication was difficult, teamwork was something to be built overtime so he endured through it all. By the late afternoon, they were drenched to the bone and sore from hauling their gear around. 

Some began to disperse after having given a twenty-minute break. Maxim watched the rest of his defending teammates return indoors to warm-up then he glanced around before he settled on Timur, realising that he was also doing the same thing- searching for him. He approached Timur with his hands in his pockets and Timur responded with the same aloofness, slinging his rifle over his shoulder then he awaited Maxim's lead. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” Maxim nudged him gently as he passed. Like a stray dog, Timur followed after him and jogged to catch up to his pace then they trudged along the dewy grass until they reached the trail that led into the trees. “I found a place when I was out running, it’s got a good view. Quiet as well.”

A small smile played at Timur’s lips. “Running? You mean exploring?” He humoured him, not surprised that he would deviate from the muddy trail just to climb through some foliage. Where the path continued to loop around the property of Stirling Lines, there was a slight incline and the thicket seemed to disperse a little. 

Maxim beckoned him to come closer then carefully descended the hill, holding onto the trees for support as their boots tried to find traction on the wet leaves and damp earth. There was a small creek ahead of them nestled at the bottom which captured Timur’s attention- his footing slipped and he tripped forwards on a tree root. Though Maxim broke his fall before he landed face-first into the mud and steadied him on his feet. 

“Careful,” he cautioned him. “Are you okay?”

Breathless, Timur loosened his hold on his arms then nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

They settled down on a fallen log by the creek, setting their rifles by a tree trunk and Maxim rummaged in his backpack for his canteen of water. He took a few sips, offered it to Timur after spotting how he eyed it so eagerly. As Timur drank, he watched his Adam’s apple bob. A droplet of water ran down his chin and managed a couple inches along his neck before he wiped it off. Maxim had been caught staring but Timur didn’t address it and returned the metal bottle, uttering a small thank-you. 

The sound of running water was calming and if one were to strain their ears, they would be able to hear muffled gunfire from the range. Maxim lit a cigarette and took the time to appreciate the cover the trees provided them from the rain which had just returned, this time pattering down in fat droplets rather than wispy spittle. There was no wind here either, just a stillness that felt as if time was in stasis.

He hadn’t realised how close they sat until he felt Timur’s gorka rustling against his own and he watched the younger man take off his knitted cap. Timur wiped the damp skin of his face with it, rubbing off what was left of his face paint after the rain had effectively left it blotchy. Then he released a sigh and crossed his arms over himself.

“God, I’m tired as hell,” Timur complained. 

“You’re getting soft,” Maxim teased and offered him his cigarette. The nicotine would provide a small boost, so Timur accepted it. Every thought in Maxim’s head told him not to stare, yet his eyes darted down to Timur’s lips as he took a drag. Christ, he was attractive and Maxim wondered what it would be like to taste the smoke on his lips. 

An uncomfortable pause followed where both of them realised there was nothing to talk about aside from the elephant in the room. Timur stubbed out the butt then cleared his throat. “This isn’t working,” he said and they both knew what he was addressing. “How long are we gonna keep pretending this is okay?”

Maxim only shrugged back, trying to play it off. “As long as it takes,” he tried to answer smartly but Timur wasn’t having it. 

“You’re actually frustrating to deal with, you know that?” Timur laughed about it but his words were genuine and Maxim agreed with him, he was being a prick about this and dancing around the whole ordeal wasn’t a way to deal with it. The thing was, he didn’t want to deal with this at all. “And you prefer it this way?” He studied Maxim’s expression, trying to decipher if there was more under the surface or if he was misreading him. Then when Maxim didn’t say anything, Timur moved his hand and clasped it over his thigh, forcing some kind of response.

It wasn’t some ploy to convince him into giving into his desires, Maxim trusted that Timur wasn’t like that. He sensed it was a genuine question but he didn’t want to give a truthful answer. He swallowed thickly, finding himself tense all over as he debated what to do. He didn’t want Timur’s hand to leave where it was, he wanted to feel more of him but it was impossible for him to communicate that. 

The lack of objection spoke for him. Timur’s hesitant gaze glanced down at his lips, then back up to his eyes, almost as if to ask for permission. He closed the distance and pressed his lips against Maxim’s, giving him an experimental and hesitant kiss to which he did not seem to protest against, but responded with the eagerness of a starved man. Maxim furrowed his brows and his hands moved to pull Timur close, gripping him by his arm and he wrenched a hand away as Timur tried to cup his cheek. 

Timur tried to provide him with sensual affections but Maxim rejected it. He did not want to be caressed or stroked, didn’t want to be peppered in light kisses, touched delicately and handled as if he were a virgin. He had a hunger and all he focused on was satiating it. He pulled away from Timur and he ushered his head down, relieved when Timur yielded to his wishes and understood what he wanted. Timur settled between Maxim’s legs without protest and didn’t think for a second to palm his bulge through his baggy trousers.

Maxim’s desperate hands struggled to undo his belt and Timur helped, prying the buttons of his trousers apart. In a collective effort they wrenched his trousers and underwear down until they were shackles around his thighs. He had a hand on his stiffening erection, the other guiding Timur’s head and the sight of him taking in his cock could’ve made him come if it weren’t for his nerves. 

The pleasurable sensation made him draw a sharp breath through his gritted teeth. He couldn’t restrain himself. As Timur took him in deeper until his nose brushed against his trimmed hairs, Maxim couldn’t help but to buck his hips, craving to feel more of him. The sounds of his quiet chokes only spurred him on and he was addicted to the way Timur grasped for him with just as much desire. Those magnificent blue eyes looked up at Maxim as Timur drew back for a breath, stroking him with a firm grip and he lapped up his spit along the shaft. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” Maxim rasped between his groans. From how Timur relaxed his throat to allow him to fuck his face, this wasn’t the first time he had done this and Maxim grew harder at the thought that he’d been used like this before by another man. He had two hands holding onto Timur’s head to keep him still as he thrust his hips languidly, enjoying the wet constriction of his throat. When he allowed him to catch his breath, he glanced around to make sure they weren’t being watched before he returned his attention to Timur. Maxim stroked his cock a few times and teasingly grazed the tip along welcoming lips before guiding it into his mouth.

His curiosity got the better of him when he spotted Timur playing with himself, jerking his weeping erection as he serviced Maxim. He eased Timur off and pulled him back up to capture his lips in an aggressive kiss again as his hands occupied themselves with touching Timur’s body, slipping under all his layers to feel the hardness of his muscles and then he dipped into Timur’s underwear and massaged his cock. This was the first time he had touched any man like this and the sounds he elicited from Timur made Maxim realise how arousing this all was. 

They jerked each other off as they kissed breathily and Maxim’s lips travelled along Timur’s jawline to feel his stubble, then the deep vibrations from his throat and he took in his natural scent. It was all these features that were so masculine and new to Maxim that it excited him even more. It had awakened a primal instinct within him to ravage him whole. And the idea that this was wrong, a deep cardinal sin, only encouraged him to commit to it. He’d already thought of it numerous times, what was the difference if he actually did it?

“Let me fuck you,” he murmured between their kiss, pushing Timur away with the hand that gripped his jaw. He wanted complete control and it seemed that Timur would submit, but only through playful resistance.

As if he was drunk off their pleasure, Timur grinned and lowered himself onto his knees to take Maxim into his mouth again. He teased his tongue along the edge of his head, knowing how sensitive it was as Maxim was uncircumcised and Timur took enjoyment in the way he cursed under his breath. Once Timur was satisfied, he pulled away and rose to his feet.

“How long have you wanted this?” Timur asked, his breath hot and heavy against Maxim’s face like condensation on glass and his hands weaved through Maxim’s hair as he pulled him close. Their foreheads bumped and he tried to kiss him but Maxim turned away, allowing for his lips to brush against his cheek. “Tell me.”

“Shut up,” Maxim growled and he pushed him down onto the ground, pressing his back into the soggy leaves beneath them. He responded to Timur’s attempted affections by pushing him down every time he tried to raise himself on his elbows to kiss Maxim or to bring him closer. Given the inconvenience of Timur’s trousers pooled around his knees, preventing Maxim from settling between his thighs, he flipped Timur onto his stomach. He straddled the back of Timur’s thighs and groped his toned glutes, fingernails leaving imprints into his flesh as he relished in listening to Timur pant gently, the way he pushed back into Maxim’s touch. 

Maxim spat generously onto his hole and spread it with his thumb. His knees pressed into the cool earth and the wet mud soaked through his trousers, but the unpleasant feeling wasn’t enough to stop what he wanted to do. He pushed his wet cock into Timur and furrowed his brows at the tight heat. Beneath him, Timur muffled a moan into his sleeve and his body tensed, he reached back to snare a fistful of the loose fabric pooled around Maxim’s knees. Pausing for a moment, Maxim spat again to ease the friction between them but it seemed that Timur didn’t mind it too rough. Timur tried to pull him closer, pressing up against Maxim with a neediness that the latter couldn’t miss.

With a hand on Timur’s hip and the other reaching forwards to muffle the other man’s moans, Maxim bucked into him, leaning all his body weight to keep him pinned against the fallen leaves. His lips found their way to Timur’s neck and he licked a wet stripe along his skin before he nuzzled his face into his hair to take in his scent once more. Everything about him was addictive. Maxim couldn’t get enough of the way Timur clenched around him, how his body writhed and the sounds of his whimpers as he reached back to grasp for Maxim to beg for more, for him to drive his cock into him harder and harder. 

It seemed so barbaric for their first time together to be like this. Outside, covered in dead leaves and wet earth, without any proper lubrication. Maxim had always envisioned them to do it in the bedroom, a condom and all, yet here he was, enthralled by the tight friction that was Timur around him. And Timur did not seem to want him to stop, he sucked in desperate gasps for air and groaned into himself, brunting the force of every short thrust.

Maxim had focused entirely on his own release. He couldn’t afford to allow any other thought to encroach in fear that he would be suddenly overcome with shame and disgust. The entire act was dirty and vulgar, and at some point it had crossed his mind where his humanity went as he fucked Timur into the mud, having nearly mounted him like a feral animal copulating with its mate. 

The front of Timur’s gorka was moist from the ground, his skin was marred with brown, and wet leaves clung to his bare thighs. He smelled of nature. No nauseating perfume, just the musk of his sweat and the petrichor surrounding them. Though his body was hot and radiating a powerful warmth against the chill of the passing wind that had Maxim delirious. He never knew how much he appreciated the sensation of a muscular body that could withstand the force of his thrusts, every grunt and groan that followed to praise the roll of Maxim’s hips.

There was a tightness in his loins as Maxim’s orgasm neared and he couldn’t help but to allow a moan to slip out after having tried to reserve himself to barely making a noise in fear of getting caught. Drawn out thrusts became replaced by short, staccato movements and he buried his face into the back of Timur’s gorka. It was a desperate struggle of gasping breaths and entangled limbs. Timur had a hand anchoring himself down, clawing onto a tree root while the other reached between his legs to massage his cock and Maxim hooked him under both his arms, his nails dug into the shoulder straps of his harness as he rutted against him.

Maxim came with a loud groan and the sensation was almost violent, a release of something he’d been pent up with for the longest time. The gentle high of pleasure had him inebriated for several moments as he sucked in deep breaths, he hadn’t noticed Timur trembling underneath him, having came not long ago either. He pulled out and inspected the mess he made, grimacing at the amalgamation of mud, spit and his ejaculation, but what did he expect? 

In afterthought, he could’ve had the courtesy of pulling out but the idea of coming inside of Timur was greatly satisfying to his curiosities. Even the thought that he did it was enough to leave him in a pool of intense emotion. Perhaps it was the dopamine that followed his ejaculation, but either way, Maxim was veering dangerously close to falling deeper into the rabbit hole that was his unnerving lust, infatuation- _attraction_ for Timur.

As he tucked himself back into his underwear and put his trousers on, Maxim watched Timur raise himself onto his hands and knees slowly as if he was recovering from the whole ordeal. Timur did the same then wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, wrenched the muck out from his right ear and exhaled in a sigh, completely exhausted. He was buttoning his trousers when Maxim extended his hand to help him up and he accepted it, though with some reluctance. If he were being honest, he expected Maxim to have walked off already but he didn’t.

“We should go,” Maxim told him, that same distant tone returning to his voice and he hoisted him to his feet. 

Such a fleeting moment, all for a few minutes of fizzling pleasure that evaporated within seconds, leaving them soaked and cold. Everywhere was sore all over and Timur was tender between his legs. He had scratches down the front of his thighs, mud all over his clothes and there was a damp sensation in his underwear to remind him of what just happened. He looked after as Maxim climbed the hill back to the trail.

With a woeful smile on his face, Timur staggered over to where his rifle was still propped up against the tree. He slung it over his shoulder then picked up the pace, trudging his way up the hill after Maxim where the echoes of gunfire had escalated again.


	6. Earnest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon reflection, Maxim tries to come to terms with his sexuality. Timur continues to drive the stake of unreciprocated love through his bleeding heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for leaving this so late. I proofread this chapter probably four times (and I bet there will still be errors in it) and there was something about it that I was quite uneasy/dissatisfied with since it has such a sudden shift in tone from the previous chapter. As a result, I kept delaying and delaying it and as of now, I’ve said, “Fuck it, if it’s a bad chapter, I’ll learn from the experience.” 
> 
> I’ve tried tweaking this chapter a lot over the past few days from adding more meat to the bones, reworking dialogue to restructuring awkward sentences and fixing pronoun mess to the best of my ability. It’s been changed quite a bit from what it was initially in the draft and while it still doesn’t feel quite ‘right’ it’s about as good as it gets. I assume it’s just one of those odd bridging chapters and despite having this entire fic already written and stewing for a month I’m still sorta shaky on many parts of it. 
> 
> Maybe it’s just me being harsh but either way, I really do hope you enjoy reading it. It was a slightly tougher chapter to edit through. See you guys next week!
> 
> Edit 090420: [@MasterOfNootART](https://twitter.com/MasterOfNootART) drew a really amazing piece of art based on this chapter and I've received permission to feature it on here! Thank you so much <3

It crossed Maxim’s mind thrice in the following hours and each time he tried to push it out of his head. What he did, he wished to keep it as an isolated incident. Although when he thought he had satisfied his curiosity, it came back to bite him as he realised nothing would ever compare to that experience. No woman could satisfy him like Timur did, end of. Beyond all that, there was a pang of guilt stirring within Maxim’s chest as he sat alone in his dorms, nursing some strong liquor. 

Once he was able to sit down and mull through what he did, he was even more disgusted with himself. Not because he felt that the act itself was wrong, but the idea that he used Timur without a single regard for his emotions. When he remembered the night Timur told him he was in love with him, Maxim couldn’t look back on the events earlier today and not feel like his actions were cruel and inhumane. While he knew Timur always looked at the bigger picture, Maxim hoped he didn’t hurt him. It didn’t occur to Maxim until now that he could’ve easily exploited Timur’s love for him and the idea of doing that left the most horrid feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach.

The door of their dorms clicked open and he was a deer caught in the headlights, his gaze intense as he watched Timur close the door. Timur spared him a tired glance and he took small, careful steps towards his own bed as he unzipped his hoodie. Without needing to ask, Maxim reached for another small glass and poured him some of the liquor then slid it over to his bedside table.

He watched Timur knock back a mouthful of the fierce whisky, pulling a face as the intense taste burnt down his throat and Maxim tried to gauge his expression, his quietness, the lack of eye contact.

“Are you okay?” Maxim then asked, breaking their silence but he couldn’t muster an earnest tone. Instead, it came across as if he was trying to make small talk and his chest tightened some more at the potential his aloof tone would be received poorly. He didn’t want Timur to think that he did not care about him, because in reality, Maxim cared more than he thought he did.

It was a vague question, one which Timur spent a second wondering if it was asked in a general manner or if there was more weight to it. He hummed back in response. “Sore,” he answered and it meant a million things to Maxim, especially when Timur spoke in such an impassive tone that held _nothing_ to tell Maxim if he was upset or if he didn’t mind their encounter. This distance was torturous and while Maxim loathed it, he wondered if he was only tasting his own medicine.

“Did I hurt you?” Maxim clarified and now upon inspection he noted the mark he left on Timur’s neck, the small red cut along the apex of his cheekbone where he grazed it against the rough ground. Maxim had an urge to reach for him, to cup his jaw and kiss the injury. He hated the lack of reassurance coming from Timur, but it was what he deserved. 

“Doesn’t matter, it was pretty hot.” Timur shrugged then took off his knit cap and set it aside. He sounded ambivalent about it and Maxim sensed it wasn’t as simple as he made it out to be. Timur drank again, this time clearing his glass then he held it out for more to which Maxim obliged. Then Timur looked readily towards him and took his turn to ask. “Why do you care?” There was an edge to the tone of his voice that was almost wounding, demanding an answer through Maxim’s inability to blatantly lie to him.

The tides shifted. When placed within the position of being forced to be transparent, Maxim didn’t know what to do. “I used you. It wasn’t right- I shouldn’t have done that to you,” he said and refused to let himself recoil from this situation. It demanded responsibility from him and the least he could do was address it. He was never good at sentimentality but he knew Timur would still appreciate an apology of some form. “And I understand… if you’re upset at me. I’m sorry.”

The tension in Timur’s expression eased. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought then he forced a smile but his eyes still held the same dullness. “I’m not upset at that, no,” he finally admitted, unable to keep it to himself. Part of Maxim dreaded what was going to be said but he knew he needed to hear it and Timur would grant him such honesty. “I don’t know what to even expect from you anymore. I know what I’m getting myself into but I-“ his words spilled over one another in a quickly spoken mumble then he interrupted himself. “And it would be stupid of me to think that this can go beyond this… physical gratification, because this is all it’s ever gonna be, right?”

Maxim sat with his gaze reserved down to the floor, feeling as if he was being scolded. During the pause, Timur took another long sip then exhaled with the weight of his burdens in his breath- the burdens which he had willingly bestowed upon himself, blinded by his love and hopeful desire that perhaps one day Maxim would be able to love him in return. Did Timur really understand what he was getting himself into?

Eventually, Maxim shook his head, summoning the strength to speak once his thoughts organised themselves. “I don’t know where this is going to go,” he told Timur, brows furrowing upwards and he gave a hopeless shrug, wishing Timur could realise he was a lost cause. “I’m a fucking mess, don’t you see it?”

To see Maxim so astray seemed to stir something in Timur and in that moment he lost the grudging, stewing anger that had resided in his heart. He swallowed thickly and struggled with his response momentarily, trying to select a careful answer.

“Just don’t feel like you’re obligated to me. Be happy, Maxim,” Timur told him in reassurance but with a gaze filled with longing and sorrow, like he’d mourned the loss of Maxim a million times in the past, and the idea of losing his presence in his life still made him so blue no matter how many times he had simulated it in his mind. As much as it hurt, it was not of Timur’s character to be selfish and Maxim cursed him for that. “Maybe one day you’ll find a wife, have children with her and live that domestic dream. If it makes you happy then… then that’s all I wish for you, do you understand? If you don’t want this to go anywhere, it doesn’t have to. I’ll stop.”

Although this wasn’t what Timur _wanted_ and Maxim could read him too easily. Frustration flared inside him, for he could not act upon his feelings yet he wished Timur could be honest because the day Maxim would marry a woman, it would be the day Timur’s heart would shatter in a million pieces and he wanted Timur to tell him this, make him realise how much of a fool he was being. 

The thought that Timur would become a distant memory, compartmentalised into the years of their careers didn’t just hurt him, but it pained Maxim just as much. He didn’t want to let go anytime soon, not of these feelings and emotions that left him so conflicted yet _alive._ Timur stirred something within Maxim like no other and he feared it wasn’t possible to rediscover that in someone else. It was safe to say he fell deep for Timur and his subconscious had already invested so much into his want and desire for Timur that to abandon him in such a way felt like a waste.

“You don’t get it. I do but-” Maxim began but he quickly stopped himself, fearing that he may say the wrong thing. “It’s hard. I can’t just...”

Timur’s eyes were focused on the ceiling, heavy lashes batting with each blink and then he swallowed down the rest of his glass. His finger traced the rim of the glass, smoothing over the chip in the lip. “I’ve been through a lot, Maxim. You can talk to me about whatever this is. We’re still friends, I’m still the Timur you know. All I’m asking of you is to be honest with me, alright?” His tone was imploring in such a way that it felt impossible to refuse but Maxim knew it would be much harder to fulfil his request. Maxim’s thoughts had not stopped tormenting him since he realised his attraction towards Timur and he wasn’t sure if he had the capability to tell him how he truly felt.

Had Maxim been intoxicated in this moment, he would’ve called Timur a hypocrite for preaching about honesty and openness, but instead he struggled in this suffocating silence, figuring out what he wanted to say. “I know, and I want to-“ Words had not been this difficult in his entire life and his thoughts were barely coherent. “Give me time, Timur. I just need time to think.”

Part of Maxim wished Timur was less selfless. He wished his love was less self-sacrificial and he hoped that Timur would’ve been more aggressive in pursuing him rather than allowing himself to be so passive. Though there was no use in praying for the impossible and with the dynamic between them, Timur always waited for Maxim’s lead no matter the issue. It was how it always had been between them.

“I’m no good for you, hm?” Maxim considered with a small hum, reflecting upon himself. “You deserve someone far better yet you like someone like me. Should’ve gone with Mark when you had the chance. He would treat you right. All I’m good for is driving you crazy.”

“What I deserve doesn’t change the fact that I… that I love _you_.” Timur spoke in a hesitant manner but each word was chosen with purpose. His brows creased, raising upwards in hopes to lighten the mood. The mention of love nearly made Maxim flinch but he tried his best to listen earnestly. “We smoke, drink, do shit that fucks us up, but sometimes it just- it just feels better that way, doesn’t it? You can be a massive asshole sometimes but you’re still my friend and I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want Mark, I don’t want any other man.”

It would take much more to push him away. No matter how many times Maxim would break Timur’s heart over and over again with his own grievances towards his sexuality, Timur always came crawling back. Maxim fell quiet for a while, still trying to take in what was said to him and he was caught in the crossfire of his belief that Timur deserved far better and his natural inclination to trust the younger man’s judgement.

And love was terribly complicated. Maxim had no clue in the world what it was, even nearing his forties he found it difficult to categorise his handful of previous relationships to be anything alike what he was experiencing now. Perhaps some of it was love, but those memories he remembered to be fleeting moments. The warmth that occupied the space within his heart only left him feeling colder when it disappeared and Timur radiated with the heat of the blazing sun. 

Maxim wished to be brave. He craved every inch of Timur as if he was his lifeblood, for not only were his lips as tempting as sweet nectar but Maxim yearned for the intimacy that made him feel squeamish all over. He wanted Timur to invade his comfort zone, to bombard him in affections that his body would contract against and reject out of instinct, to serenade him in saccharine sentimentality until he embraced it. The idea of Timur loving someone else as deeply would shatter and break Maxim into a million fragments. He needed him.

The dull pain that ached from his chest for Timur frightened him. Maxim had lost too much, not just lovers but comrades too. Life was cruel and he refused to ever let himself believe that he was safe from the greedy hands of fate which would not hesitate to tear happiness from his grasp. No matter how he tried to dissociate himself from his losses, it always hurt more than anything he had ever suffered through in his life. He feared allowing himself to love Timur, as there would be a day where he would be viciously ripped away.

Though Maxim was conflicted. To love and pour one’s soul into cherishing the company of another person meant exposing oneself. It was the greatest investment anyone could make with substantial risk but Maxim knew this reward was incredibly rare. At this point he needed to ask himself if he valued the ability to give his love to Timur and receive it in return, or if he would rather protect himself but go an entire lifetime wondering what could have become of them.

The answer was within his heart; he made up his mind a long time ago.

He didn’t know what to call _this._ Whether to label it as love or infatuation. To say it was a crush felt too juvenile and trivial for what it put Maxim through. Either way, he had a strong notion that this was going to be fatal to him and it put him on edge to be so vulnerable. Dependency was foreign to him and before he even realised, he had put all his eggs into one basket and Timur was holding it. He could trust Timur, no doubt about it, but it meant there would be things not within Maxim’s grasp, out of his control. He did not know if his mind would allow that no matter his attraction for him.

There was an opportunity waiting to be seized and the time was nigh to do _anything._ It was crucial to do something about this soon and Maxim hoped he would have the courage to at least attempt to navigate through his ocean of problems. 

While Timur had the patience of a saint, he would not spend the rest of his life waiting for Maxim to gather himself together.   
  


* * *

  
  


As the days trickled by like the lethargic raindrops rolling down the foggy window of their dorm, Maxim found himself returning to one of their previous conversations. He reflected on what Timur said to him and the prospects of remaining in England. Russia held a dear place within his heart but he wondered if there was a place for people like them there. For Timur, he had already made up his mind and it was clear that he preferred the safety and comfort of a Western country, even if it was dreary England.

Part of living, of being truly alive, was to survive and endure unfair circumstances. It meant sacrificing things and in desperate pursuit of a happiness that he hadn’t experienced in years, Maxim came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be possible for him to coexist freely within his homeland and not face any consequences, whether that be keeping his sexuality a secret or putting himself at risk. 

He did not know where his future would take him, but for the time being, he took careful and tentative steps towards self-acceptance. It was all he could do aside from feeling sorry for himself and if anything, he didn’t want to lose Timur. This path would not be easy but what awaited at the end of it made it worth the while. Perhaps by then, the fantasies in his daydreams may even be possible. It took every morsel of his energy to push away the shame and negative thoughts that swarmed him. He tried his best when it came to Timur and didn’t allow himself to shy away at the first glimpse of affection, especially since it was platonic. 

The reluctant side of him felt absolutely juvenile to spend his free time imagining all these obscure scenarios, of teeth-rotting affection to the filthiest acts. Though, when there was no pressing matter at hand, it was where his mind nestled comfortably- within the thought of Timur’s arms. In fact, he had been so caught up in it all that he hadn’t heard Timur enter their dorms in the late evening, radiating with an energy of excitement.

“Hey, catch.” A bag of crisps came sailing across the room and landed on his chest with a harsh crinkle. Maxim pushed himself up into a sitting position, a brow raised as he withdrew his legs to allow Timur to settle down on his bed, placing a pillow against the wall to pad his back. “C’mon, new episode. Did you forget?”

It came back to Maxim, the show they had been watching together for the past while and Timur had been anticipating the new season.The sides of their bodies touched from how close they sat and broad shoulders battled for space. Timur gave him one earbud then shifted into a more comfortable position. He held his phone between them and clicked play. 

For the first half of the episode, Maxim found himself horribly distracted, whether that be from eating or the fact that he could feel the addictive warmth of Timur’s body, the way it radiated from him in a way that drew Maxim in like a moth to lamplight. Without realising, Timur’s head came to a comfortable rest against Maxim’s shoulder and that contact alone was enough to make his brain go haywire. Then over time he realised the weight of Timur’s body pressed against his side, leaning into him. If Maxim had the guts, he would’ve liked to snake an arm around Timur’s shoulders, to keep him close and comfortable. Deep down, Maxim had a great appetite for that kind of contact, a longing for gentle intimacy but the fact that it was _intimacy_ to any degree had him paralysed, completely clueless. 

Maxim snuck a glance down to admire Timur’s serene expression and he stared at his lips as he spoke, hardly listening to a word but when he saw that enchanting smile, it was instinctive of him to mirror it with a small grin. He couldn’t imagine how he would have coped with the monotony of the downtime of his job had it not been for Timur. In that precise moment when Maxim was completely and utterly enthralled, he realised that he was a fool for Timur. 

A prolonged pause fell upon them but there wasn’t the static air of tension to make things awkward. Timur read the subtleties of Maxim and waited for him to make a move on his own terms, almost imploring him to do something with the expectant simper that lingered on his face. However it seemed that Maxim lost all ability to be suave. Midway through, he bailed out. Their foreheads grazed and breaths became delicate but for Maxim, something within him stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t muster the courage, it didn’t feel natural to do such a thing and his own judgement halted him.

Timur’s smile did not falter, flattered by the attempt despite it being as painful and awkward as two teenagers attempting to kiss for the first time. To give him a hand, Timur reached to cup his jaw and pressed his lips against Maxim’s with a directness that caught him off guard. While Timur’s lips were soft, Maxim’s were chapped as he never cared for lip balm and his tendency to chew at the skin of his lips left them rough like sandpaper. Though it was everything that was calloused and rugged about Maxim that Timur seemed to like, whether that be his personality or his physical body. 

Maxim enjoyed the chaste kiss while it lasted. Even after they pulled away, their faces remained close and Timur nuzzled against him, peppering his lips along his cheek where his stubble grew patchy in its endearing fashion. This was the kind of touch Maxim had been sorely deprived of for years. There was nothing heated, no urgency behind Timur’s gestures but a simple display of affection. His hands smoothed down Maxim’s forearm, a finger tracing over the vascularity before Timur grasped his hand, their fingers interlacing.   
  
He gave Maxim’s hand a gentle squeeze and cast an attentive gaze towards him, eyes questioning if this was alright.

The euphoria of that moment cooled from the initial burst of heat to a simmering warmth. It was certainly comforting, but Maxim felt himself sobering up and despite wanting this, enjoying it, his instincts told him to let go. It was impossible to not grow frustrated. He felt as if there was a malfunction in his being, an intrinsic flaw that prevented him from being happy. 

Timur kissed him again, but when Maxim did not respond, he backed off and anxiety marred his expression as if he wondered if it was his fault.

“I can’t… I don’t know what’s wrong with _me_ ,” Maxim muttered and he looked away, furrowing his brows. His stomach recoiled and his entire body filled with a nauseating sensation of shame. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can do this.” 

Although Timur only offered a sympathetic look when he observed how Maxim’s hands clenched into fists. “You don’t have to apologise,” he said, hoping to reassure him. He gathered his things and returned to his own bed to give Maxim some space. 

And it wasn’t just Maxim who laid awake in bed, humiliated. Timur didn’t walk out of this unscathed and if anything, it pained him to love a man who could not reciprocate his affections in the same manner. To give but receive little in return left him starved and hopeless. They were straining to reach one another and find this connection they both greatly needed. Fingertips merely brushed but there was still a distance between them that they could not close even after all Maxim had fought through to reach this point.

Regardless, Timur was a dreamer. He continued to pray that one day his hopes that Maxim would love him back would come true, and that was enough to keep him hanging on.


	7. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emergency mission finds Maxim troubled by his past, he realises life is too fleeting to allow love to slip between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter stemmed from me wanting to write action and this was an attempt at it with some 'artistic liberties' and fantasy to the scenario. It makes me really happy to read all the feedback I've received from you guys and I try my best to not let my nervousness get the better of me when it comes to showing you guys this work. I do fear disappointing people sometimes but everyone has those feelings. I suppose what's good for you and me is that we both know it's impossible for me to just ghost this story after coming so far since it's already finished *insert nervous doge meme* 
> 
> Thanks for sticking around. I'll see you guys next Thursday.

Maxim never left Beslan. When he believed he was finally able to move past that catastrophic event, it took one tiny thought to remind him the reason why he was such a fragmented person. It changed him down to his very composition of who he was as a person, moulded his personality and how he conducted himself. Incompetency, human error, he refused to allow himself to blame it on bad luck or misfortune. Either way, no matter what was the cause of the tragedies, it was damn clear that it was out of everyone’s control. 

He recalled how helpless he felt, trying to evacuate as many hostages as possible while his comrades fell to enemy fire, then the devastation of finding out who didn’t make it and who was maimed for the rest of their lives, put out of their careers. The death toll, all those children slaughtered like lamb. It was unacceptable and to this day he was overcome with shame and guilt at the memory of it all. There was blood on his hands and he would never forget its distinct scent.

Everyone in Rainbow was haunted by something and for Maxim, he swore on his life to never allow such a disaster to happen again. It was why he accepted the job in the first place but he knew that no matter what they did, evil would persist in the world. The best they could do was mitigate the damage, salvage what intel they could gather and hope it would allow them to prevent more attacks. It was a constant, frantic chase.

The call came in at twelve. They were in the middle of a briefing for a mission in the coming week, but the events unfolding in Germany demanded their presence immediately. The details left a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach and echoes of his past reverberated in his head, he began to fear another impending tragedy.

Shock was not exclusive to him. When the news broke, everyone did not move at first. A children’s hospital, taken under siege by White Masks approximately two hours ago. There were a number of the operatives who had children and they mulled over the intrusive thought of how easily it could’ve been their own kids. They worried over every potential situation and at the possibility of horrific loss, they were paralysed in their seats.

James was the first to rise to his feet. He wore a solemn frown on his face. “No use sitting on our arses, we ought to go,” he said, prompting everyone to follow suit.

“Meet at the helipad in fifteen!” Mike gave the order which breathed a nervous energy throughout the room.

There was a bottleneck at the door of everyone flooding through the one door. When Timur thought he had lost Maxim within the crowd, he spotted him amongst the pack of recruits making their way towards the barracks. Expression marred with trouble and worry, Maxim focused on the path ahead of him and he did not hear his name being called. It was only when Timur snared his wrist did he halt, completely startled and displaced from his thoughts. 

“Are you okay?” Timur asked him, sparing him a look of concern as they continued to walk. He had to quicken his pace to keep up with Maxim. 

No response came. Maxim stormed into their dormitory and wrenched open the small locker that held his uniform. His silence gave an answer but Timur refused to accept it. He pulled on his own uniform then threw a glance over his shoulder to see that the tension remained in Maxim’s brow. 

“You’re on edge,” came Timur’s small comment and he received a sharp look from Maxim. “I know this is familiar, but don’t do anything dumb. Keep your head clear, hear me?” To draw any answer was like pulling teeth from Maxim. He secured his harness and the metal carabiners clinked together as he tried to tighten the straps around his thigh. While Timur reserved a dear place within his heart for Maxim, it was infuriating to deal with his natural inclination to put all his emotions into quarantine the second anything bad happened. Timur took him by his arm. “Promise me, Maxim.”

The contact grounded Maxim from his thoughts. He managed a small nod but he did not know if he was able to keep his part of the vow. It was then he was reminded that Timur’s love would not come in just physical affection. He cared for Maxim and he had his own fears of losing him as much as Maxim did as well. He gave a nod but it did not convince Timur nor did it reassure him whatsoever. Overwhelmed by his anxieties, Timur pulled Maxim into a tight embrace then buried his face into the crook of Maxim’s neck and squeezed his body close, taking in a shuddering breath.

Stunned, it took Maxim a moment to respond but then he held him and filled his lungs with Timur’s scent. While he was not one to be melodramatic, it took only one bullet to kill and the intensity of what he felt for Timur would not allow him to ignore that risk. He grasped at Timur’s body, hoping to engrave the sensation into his memory before he cupped Timur’s cheek. His stubble scratched against Maxim’s palm as he leaned into his touch. 

Maxim pressed a kiss onto his forehead then he looked into his eyes with a fervent gaze. “Be safe,” he said to Timur but it was clear this was not something he simply said in parting like one would wish someone good luck on their journey. The tone of his voice was imperative and Timur could only nod so earnestly. 

Solemn faces gathered at the helipads where they prepared to be transported to the airbase. Everyone was clad in similar, black uniforms which differed vastly from the uniforms they were used to of their home countries. If it weren’t for their flag, the small name embroidered onto their breast pocket, the subtle differences in loadouts and stature then at a glance they all seemed identical.

The journey to Germany was filled with tense conversation, they all carefully studied the floor plans and memorised the layout of the building to calculate the quickest route of evacuation. Updates came only to fill them with more dread as the situation escalated. At the mention of negotiating with the terrorists, expressions turned dark. There was not a single person present who did not understand by now that there was no point in trying to bargain with the White Masks. Ruthless folk with no honour, as Mike would describe them. There was no honour in killing the innocent, holding their lives at the expense of some radical form of freedom which seemed to be so unclear and fanatical to the operatives of Rainbow.

The attack was beginning to unfold into some sick nightmare. Threats of executions were encroaching towards reality and Maxim counted down the seconds with anticipation knotted up in his muscles. He took in steady breaths and went over the plan of action in his head to remind himself where he would strike with his teammates. At some point he had prayed to wake up from whatever this was, he hoped it was a fabrication of his mind and maybe he could shake himself awake then Timur would be there to comfort him- no. This was real.

Red and blue flashed before their eyes as the trucks drove past ambulances upon ambulances on standby to transport freed hostages to surrounding hospitals. Police held the main entrance of the hospital, muttering down their radios but it seemed the action had reached a stalemate. The GSG9 were already present, taking point on various places from neighbouring skyscrapers with snipers to maintaining rooftop control. 

Their arrival was not greeted with relieved smiles but tense stares. Journalists snapped their photos and speculated as they disembarked, clad in their tech and weaponry. They dispersed as their plan dictated and the facade of being backup would buy them some time to get set up. It was only a matter of moments before the White Masks would catch on, but hopefully by then they would be in place to strike. 

Ready to push down the stairwell that led from the rooftop, Alexsandr motioned to halt. Word from a commanding GSG9 officer described children rigged in explosive vests. Discretion was crucial, no one wanted to risk a chain reaction which would lead to an entire hospital of dead children and Maxim was ready to vomit from his own nerves. Yet he composed himself and awaited instructions.

This was not the typical raid where they could go in loud with explosives and overwhelm the terrorists with sheer firepower. They limited their use of any explosives in fear of collateral damage and after some consultation with doctors it was decided they would forgo EMP grenades in fear it would damage lifesaving equipment. 

After some droning and further intel regarding the hostiles on this floor, Alexsandr gave the call and they entered through the cramped stairwell. The fluorescent tube ahead of them blinked, occasionally shrouding them in a thick, inky darkness. Once the backup generators returned power to their sector of the building they were illuminated by clinical white light. The topmost floor they reached as the paediatric intensive care unit. Shuhrat called out fifteen armed hostiles patrolling the floor, roughly twenty bodies restrained and gathered at the centre of the ward. 

There was no graceful way around the situation. Negotiations provided a distraction but the only solution was to take out the hostiles as clean as possible. Their numbers were stretched and limited, Maxim could feel every instinct in his body telling him he would fall into the same crisis once more where resources would be sparse and he knew lives would be lost because of it. The idea of having to look a parent in their eyes, knowing that there was nothing he could do to save their child, left him shattered. He couldn’t allow his emotions to cloud his judgement, not now. He mentally shook the thoughts out of his head as they moved silently through the ward, weaving through the dark. 

Silenced weapons were still deafeningly loud. They coordinated their attack but at the first crack of gunfire, the terrorists scattered or returned fire, even dove for hostages as cover. The hospital descended into chaos, children screamed and cried in terror. Maxim did not allow himself to be distracted with the intrusive question of whether those screams were from fear, or from injury. He needed to focus on armed hostiles, eliminate them as quickly as he could.

He returned fire to an aggressor around a row of cots, his bullets slammed into the mattresses and ricocheted off the metal trolleys then as a spray of a submachine gun forced him to take cover. The magazine in his rifle was empty so he drew his pistol but every process in his body seized up. Down his sights was a girl, no older than eight. The terrorist held her in front of his body, using her as a shield and he turned his gun, pressing the barrel against her temple. He yelled a demand in German, one which Maxim did not understand but he pretended to lower his weapon as not to aggravate him, realising he had been too slow on the draw and now he needed a miracle to happen, whether that be the bang of Shuhrat’s rifle or Alexsandr’s rapid-fire takedown with his pistol.

Though the terrorist’s allies had been downed in the quick assault. He was the only one unrestrained amongst those who were left alive, the one who slipped between their grasp. An echoing crack had everyone flinching. Blood splattered across the walls where his head was pierced by a high calibre round, then Maxim leapt forwards to gather the child in his arms before she fell. He held her close as he returned to his squad who were freeing the hostages from their restraints.

“Good shot, Glazkov,” Shuhrat muttered down their communications. “PICU cleared, hostages secured. Bomb disposal squad on site, disarming explosive vests. Status, Doc?”

“West atrium secured. We have seven armed explosive vests, fourteen casualties. All hostiles have been eliminated, requesting medical assistance now,” Gustave answered promptly, his voice strained.

Disturbance came eastwards, right beneath them where the British were supposedly securing the east atrium of the lobby. The distinct echoes of Timur’s sniper rang clear over the muffled gunfire. His shots were paced but it was definite that the bullet found the correct targets. 

While Alexsandr and a number of recruits escorted hostages to the rooftop where they would evacuate via helicopter, Maxim and Shuhrat coordinated a flank to support the British in their efforts to secure the eastern atrium. Intel that hostages had been hit in the crossfire alerted them to quicken their pace. They descended the stairs behind the administration where the gunfire was concentrated and Shuhrat motioned for them to halt. He deployed a drone, instructing two other recruits to keep watch for movement.

“All hostages are contained in the lobby. The office isn't clear, approximately thirteen hostiles. No hostages,” he called out, thoroughly droning behind each desk. 

Shuhrat produced a cluster charge but before he could set it, Maxim took him by the wrist. “It’s risky,” Maxim hissed back at him but it was impossible to make out Shuhrat’s expression. Maxim knew he was not one to completely disregard the safety of civilian life and his decisions were always calculated, logical. If he felt this was the best call then he would make it, but Maxim’s faith wavered. 

Now was not the time to justify actions. Shuhrat pushed past his grip. “Charge set,” he warned, an edge to his voice that told Maxim he should not try to intercept his armed gadget. “Cluster charge live!”

“What the bloody hell-“ Mike’s voice was cut off by the deafening explosions. 

The explosions flushed out the terrorists or consumed them whole. Tumultuous gunfire filled the atrium as fleeing terrorists scrambled for their lives, only to run into the sights of the British holding the line in the atrium, supported by their recruits. The Russians poured into the office after breaching the wall and Maxim scanned the bloodshed, trying to make sense of the remains splattered all over the broken furniture and he confirmed kills on the scattered bodies. He caught movement, a faint twitching coming from a pile of corpses. 

Through a mask marred by blood and dust, he saw two eyes staring back at him unblinkingly. There was no way to tell if that gaze was filled with fear or with vengeance- there was no time. The terrorist held something within his fist and at the last second, Maxim recognised it to be a remote detonator. 

The blast tore through him. Had it not been for the bodies to absorb the brunt of the force, he would’ve been dead. Over the sound of his blood thundering in his ears, a high-pitched ringing muffled every sound. Hands grasped at his body, someone loosened the strap of his helmet then the cool air of the office brushed against his face as they peeled off his balaclava. He blinked as his vision recovered, greeted by a masked individual. 

“Kapkan’s down, requesting a medic!” Shuhrat called down their communications then he held Maxim steady when he tried to push himself back to his feet. “Don’t move. You’re bleeding a lot, just focus on your breathing and we’ll get you patched up.”

It was as if time was in stasis. To even move his hand to touch his moist forehead was like moving through molasses, his motions were impaired and sluggish. Despite knowing clearly what he wanted to say, he couldn’t force the words out. They were trapped somewhere inside. “The vests,” he managed to squeeze out as a medic flashed a light into his eyes. “Those remotes-”

“Jammers are in place, don’t worry about it,” Shuhrat reassured and he continued to speak but hearing was becoming a challenge above Maxim’s tinnitus and the sounds surrounding them. At the shrill cry of children wailing, Maxim tried to rise to his feet. They needed help, he couldn’t leave them. “Stand down, we have this under control. You’ve had a blow to your head but you’ll be alright. Hey, get him out of here. Lift in three, two, one…”

Several people lifted him to his feet. His legs were barely able to support the weight of his body but he managed to walk with the help of the medics. When they exited the building, thrusting him into the blinding daylight and the biting edge of the morning gust, he was overcome with nausea. Paramedics took him into their care. Once again with the flashlight, but this time Maxim couldn’t hold back as his stomach churned more and more. He vomited all over himself and the contents of his stomach splashed onto his boots, the wet asphalt beneath him. 

The paramedics asked him questions, none of which he could answer properly. It was then that he realised that his injuries were more serious than he thought they were. He didn’t know where he was or what day it was. All his brain focused on was the mission. He saw the blood streaked across the floors when he closed his eyes and every time he opened them, the white lights of the ambulance made his jaw tense in preparation to throw up once more.

As the vehicle veered and jostled, rolling down jammed roads and speeding further away from the besieged hospital, Maxim couldn’t remember the numbers given to him at the briefing of the mission. How many hostages, estimated number of hostiles, then he trolled desperately through his memory in hopes to recall whether the blood came from his enemies or the screaming, crying children they were trying to save. The sound was horrible. A gut-wrenching cry of noises that left him tense all over. It was the same nearly two decades ago and everything began to blur into one. 

Beslan never left Maxim no matter how hard he tried to forget about it, or even come to peace with what happened. Was history repeating itself? He wished there was someone to give any form of update to reassure him from his thoughts. It was terrifying when the only thing he could assume was the worst- the vests detonating and wiping everyone out. If his memory was not failing him, he was sure the operatives were focused on freeing the children from the vests under the safety of Mark’s jammers preventing any remote detonators from setting them off. It would only be after that would they try to disarm the bombs in a race against the ticking timers.

The trauma centre he arrived at was packed to the brim with injured personnel, from police officers to the recruits that were also sent with them on this mission. Within minutes he was seen by a doctor while the paramedic gave the report of what happened. He lost time between the events despite being awake and before he knew it, he was laying in a CT scanner, blinking up at the blank interior. 

If he had a second chance for every instance someone said he was fortunate or lucky to get away with such tame injuries, he would’ve slaughtered those terrorists a million times over, but that would require him to remember what happened earlier. No bleeds, no fractures, just one hell of a concussion to show for it and a nasty scar. There was a horrific throbbing pain in his head where he struck the wall at full force, but nothing a couple painkillers and some rest couldn’t fix.

* * *

News headlines were filled with criticism, numbers of victims lost in the siege were broadcast on every platform possible and even when Maxim closed his eyes, he could not escape any of it. He liked to believe it was nowhere as catastrophic as Beslan, but without the numbers and vague recollection of what happened, he could only speculate. Quick-spoken German echoed through the ward of soldiers nursing their injuries and judging by the way they were crammed like sardines, the hospital was at capacity. A doctor did another round of checkups on Maxim. By now his head cleared up considerably. A fog remained muddling his mind and it was apparent to him that in order to pull any thought through his head, it was like reeling in a struggling fish. 

It was a concussion. A particularly bad one, but not life threatening. After some consideration, the doctor discharged him. They were still dealing with the masses of injured patients who were awaiting treatment. If the infirmary at base could deal with the worst of his injuries then he did not require a bed here. They sent him back with a box of painkillers and some spare dressings to pad the jagged wound on his scalp. 

On the ride back he continued to follow his train of thought. Had it not been for Rainbow providing assistance, what would have happened? According to a recruit, the vests were defused with only two minutes remaining. One hundred and twenty seconds until they exploded, yet through the training and technologies developed by Rainbow they managed to avoid that catastrophe all together. It wasn’t to say that they were excused for their shortcomings. The mission was messy as far as Maxim could remember, they were not well prepared for it. Despite that, if Rainbow had never been formed then the headlines would be broadcasting the story of a children’s hospital reduced to dust and rubble.

If it was possible to turn back time, there were a million things he would’ve done differently. Although as much as his mind loved to dwell on the past, he knew there was no use in beating himself up for it. He’d done it before with Beslan and it achieved nothing but alcoholism and an angered outlook on life. He tried to think of anything else and next thing he knew he worried himself with Timur. Where was he? Maxim hadn’t heard anything from him since the mission. While Timur was not in the heart of the action, anything was possible and whether Maxim suspected he had gotten hurt or not, he just wanted to know Timur’s status. 

As the minutes passed and the truck moved mere inches in the heavy traffic, Maxim’s anxieties got the best of him. He focused incessantly on old nightmares and memories, of receiving the news that good colleagues had been killed in action, some paralysed for life from their injuries. The scenario of being told that Timur was gravely injured or killed had Maxim picking at his nails until they oozed with blood.

It would comfort him greatly to just know he was okay, even more so if he could see Timur in person and at the thought of him, Maxim wanted to hold him, to feel his physical body and know for sure that he was here with him. While his head throbbed and he craved for a bed to lay in, the second he arrived at the base they would rest at for the night, he searched around for Timur. 

His colleagues conversed quietly in small groups, all looking worn and weary from the mission. Timur wasn’t amongst any of them. Maxim approached Mark, almost prowling as he continued to scan the mess area.

“Chandar, have you seen Timur?” Maxim asked a little too hastily, his tone terse and he was in no mood to be friendly. 

Mark studied the white dressings on his head before he glanced around. “No, mate,” he answered and gave a hum to indicate he was thinking. “Check the west wing of the barracks. Most of us were assigned rooms in that sector.” Though before Maxim could turn on his heel to leave, Mark put a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy. He’s alright.”

At the reassurance, Maxim stared back at him, trying to decipher his motives. “Thank you,” he remembered to say before he continued on his hunt.

Each step worsened his headache and when he arrived in the barracks, he pushed past a cluster of recruits to examine the room arrangements pinned to a cork board. There he spotted his name next to Timur’s, under room seven in the west wing of the barracks. He sensed his journey was nearing its end as he turned the small key to his room in his palm. Timur was not far if he was resting in their room and Maxim was desperate for him, craving his presence as if he were oxygen. 

Inside the room, a bed squeaked when he unlocked the door. By the time he stepped in, Timur was on his feet, watching him with tensed shoulders and he was wracked with anticipation. Maxim, weathered and nearly broken, presented himself to Timur, hoping that perhaps the sniper could gather him in his arms and piece him back together. Without thinking of what he was doing, he allowed his body to conduct itself. He didn’t take his eyes off Timur and in one quick, sudden motion, he pulled him into an embrace. 

Timur did not respond immediately at first then he held Maxim, burying his face into the crook of his neck where his skin smelt of disinfectant from the hospital. Timur couldn’t remember the last time Maxim didn’t reek of cigarettes. The sensation of his light breaths ghosted over where Maxim’s blood thundered in his arteries. 

“You gave me a fucking scare, I hope you know that,” Timur told him with a serious expression as cupped Maxim’s jawline with his palm. His glossy eyes examined the injuries on Maxim’s face, from the small cuts to the flakes of red on his forehead from his wounds. His short hair stank of the metallic odour of blood and his eyes remained closed as he leaned against Timur’s hand, finding his touch ever so relieving. “I tried to look for you, but the hospitals were so busy and I didn’t want to disturb-“

Maxim hushed him softly, needing silence. He tightened his arms around Timur until their foreheads bumped, pressing together and Maxim took in a tentative breath as he nuzzled against him. Through the numbed dullness he felt from his painkillers, he chased for the warmth of Timur’s affections. While Maxim’s chapped lips brushed against Timur’s, it was barely a kiss. His eyes remained close and his hands continued to grasp for more of Timur, not daring to let go in fear that if he let go, it would be forever.

In a sudden rouse of emotion, Maxim took in a gasping breath. “I need you,” he whispered and it took every morsel of energy in his body to push those words out. Bruised ribs ached at the tightness of Timur’s embrace but the pain was comforting, a grounding sensation that anchored him down to reality where Timur was safe and the opportunity to tell him how he truly felt was still there. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Timur’s brows furrowed upwards, touched by his mumbled confession. He pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of Maxim’s mouth where the whiskers of his overgrown stubble scratched his lips. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Timur promised him, hoping to quell his distress. He wanted to tell Maxim this a million times but before he could reassure him again, Maxim captured him in a deep kiss. His bruised body flared all over in pain and his face ached more than anywhere else yet he continued to kiss Timur as if it was the last time he would be able to. 

Maxim grasped for more until Timur’s shirt was balled up in his fists. A low grumble resonated from him as Timur’s hand brushed against his nape, veering close to where his head pounded. Without much resistance, Timur was able to lead him to bed and he pushed Maxim down, coaxing him to lay and rest.

“You need to rest,” Timur commanded and he caressed Maxim’s cheek, careful to avoid the wound along the apex of his cheekbone where a bruise was beginning to form.

Maxim held on when Timur tried to ease off. “Stay,” he implored in a weak mumble, exhausted beyond words. “Please.”

Under the dim lighting of the room, illuminated from the hallways, Maxim could make out the way Timur’s gaze softened. He reached for the lamp and turned it off then carefully, he manoeuvred on the small bed to slot perfectly into Maxim’s arms. Had Maxim not been overcome by his exhaustion, he would’ve kissed him again but he settled for the gentle brush of their faces, so close that breaths ghosted over skin. All his feelings of shame had not entered his mind once, the urgency of this situation refused to let him consider for even a moment that this was wrong.

He moved a hand to caress Timur’s cheek, his touch light as if his skin was porcelain and it relieved Maxim to remember that Timur was not in the heart of the conflict. If anything happened, he didn’t know what he would do and this revelation reminded Maxim he couldn’t just allow their relationship to slip between his fingers. If circumstances came to a time where they would part ways, and if Maxim would fail to give Timur the love he deserved then he had no idea what he would do with himself.

At the affection, Timur pressed his lips against Maxim’s palm then he reached up to grasp the hand that felt so delicate under its rough callouses. He held it and placed another tender kiss over the back of it, his soft lips grazing over new wounds and Maxim awaited a day where Timur would do this same exact gesture but over the scars that would eventually form.

Once Maxim’s anxieties had calmed, he was able to allow the tension in his body to dissipate. He hadn’t known touch to be so comforting, not in years, but now he had developed something fatal for Timur and he needed him in the same way he would fight tooth and nail for his fix of nicotine.

And like his cigarettes, Maxim knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he would give up Timur.


	8. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timur reaches his breaking point, Maxim pieces back their fragmented relationship.

Maxim awoke with an uncanny clarity, the fog in his head that had cleared overnight. His conflicted thoughts were still scrambled in his head and this mess only became more coherent, not any less troublesome to deal with. It hurt to think, much less move but he looked down to see Timur was still asleep in his arms, his cheek pressed against Maxim’s chest and he looked peaceful. It would be cruel to disturb him, so Maxim allowed this moment to last. The weight of Timur’s body against him was pleasant and he wouldn’t mind this for the rest of his life, having Timur’s face buried against his chest while his thick thigh crossed over Maxim’s, locking him in place against the thin mattress.

Though now that he had returned to the very same headspace that shied away from the intimacy of loving Timur, Maxim was at a loss for what to do. To lead him on would be the greatest act of betrayal Maxim could commit to Timur and himself, but in no way was he trying to deceive him. Their feelings were mutual, at this point Maxim was past the point of denying it and now he acknowledged the intensity of it, how mad it drove him.

He did not want to sever this bond between them. It was sustaining to him and he needed it despite his previous efforts to suppress it, no matter how much turmoil it put him through. In fact, now he was desperate to convince himself this was not something he could control and he _needed_ to allow himself to feel this happiness or it would ruin him.

What he felt for Timur was so fierce that it threatened to tear a hole in his heart if he dared to try and tame it. It was a beast that made him act in ways he would never imagine himself doing so. It made him lustful, he wanted to ravage Timur whole and claim him for himself. When it came to others, Maxim was overcome with jealousy despite knowing those people were merely friends or colleagues. Once alone with Timur in his thoughts, Maxim desired nothing but to love him so tenderly, feel the softness of his skin and the rigidity of his muscular body. Yet the second Timur gave him any exclusive attention Maxim unknowingly demanded, it became instinctual for him to close himself off. 

In order to allow Timur to get close, Maxim would have to ignore every instinct in him, the reflexes he built over the years to protect himself and it was far easier to reflect upon than it was to put it into practice. 

The warm sensation of Timur’s hand against Maxim’s cheek brought him out of his thoughts. 

“How are you feeling?” Timur asked him, his voice a quiet croak in the early morning. 

There was noise stirring outside their room of their colleagues getting up for breakfast, readying to leave. Maxim groaned as he tried to move, every muscle in his body aching and his joints were stiff from the impact of the explosion. “Like shit,” he muttered back and earned himself a sympathetic smile, one which he badly wanted to return yet all he managed was a furrowing of his brows. “Haven’t had a cigarette since…” he paused and jogged his memory but to no avail, he could hardly recall the past two days. Clearing his throat, he braced himself to sit up, to make a great escape from the heat of the bed which made him clammy all over. It seemed the simple act of speaking to Timur in this close proximity was enough to make him flee. “We need to get up.”

At his cold tone, Timur’s expression faltered. He watched Maxim pull his boots on, raising himself up on his elbows. At the disappointed frown darkening Timur’s expression, Maxim’s stomach coiled and writhed with discomfort. He wished he was able to give Timur what he deserved but affections never came easy, if at all. The silence plunged through his chest in an aching pain and Maxim’s once-steady hands began to fidget with his medication. By the time he managed to pop two painkillers out of their blister packaging, Timur handed him a bottle of water and squeezed his shoulder as he passed to his side of the room.

The contact made everything within Maxim come to a halt. Even though there was a strained tension between them that could not be remedied by pretending everything was alright, Timur still had these _automatic_ responses within him like the need to touch Maxim, and Maxim could never look at him in the same way, he couldn’t ignore the caring glances anymore. It would be impossible to ever go back to what they were before all of this. 

At one point there was the opportunity to bail out and Maxim thought it was when he had declared they would go back to what they once were before the kiss, but in hindsight, he’d fallen in deep by then, _given in_ to his desires by the time he allowed thoughts of Timur to swarm every space in his mind. He had been fighting with the conflict in his heart for the longest time and it brought him to where he was now, hopeless with a horrible feeling as if he had ruined everything. Feel down he wished the circumstances were different. That he didn’t mess this all up, that Timur wasn’t upset.

It was impossible not to think about the shift in Timur’s mood and despite what Maxim had done to him, Timur continued to care for him. Masking the sting to his heart with concentration, Timur helped apply clean dressings to his wounds, insisting to do it when Maxim was adamant he would sort it out. It was these minor things that drove Maxim to recede further into himself. He loathed himself for hurting Timur, for his greed and his lust that drove them into this painful stalemate. Although he could never turn the blame on Timur, he couldn’t find it within himself to hate him for giving so much, even when his affections became the source of Maxim’s frustrations at himself.

Timur’s heart was made of gold, and gold was a delicate, soft material. 

They caught a quick breakfast, forcing themselves to chew on something even if they had no appetite from yesterday’s mission. With a mug of black coffee, Maxim retreated out the side-door of the canteen and settled against the railings of the raised walkway. He questioned why Timur would choose to follow him and his brain toyed with the morbid idea that Timur would rather bear with their mangled relationship than to linger around anyone else. It was a peculiar thought indeed, one which had him craving for the answer.

_Cigarette._ His brain darted incessantly between either wanting a smoke or wanting Timur and Maxim couldn’t catch a break. The first drag relieved something deep within and he savoured it for the longest time that he did not notice Timur’s eager stare. Then he offered him one as well and shielded the flame from the morning gust as Timur leaned in to get a light. 

“Leech,” Maxim teased him under his breath, his mood immediately lifted from the warm buzz of nicotine flooding his body. Timur responded with a small smile before he looked elsewhere and he took light puffs of his cigarette, acclimating himself to the harsh acridness of it. Part of Maxim was relieved to see his expression brighten but it was still clear that something bothered him. “Hey,” Maxim spoke up after a pause. It had been itching at him for the past hour, he couldn’t endure it for another. Nudging Timur with his elbow, he looked over and studied Timur’s furrowed brows, the way he propped his head up on his hand with a finger rubbing away at that scar on his right eye as he leaned against the dewy railings. “What’s the matter?”

Timur withdrew his hand and stood up straight. He exhaled the smoke in his lungs with a small sigh then swallowed thickly, trying to rid the taste at the back of his throat. “We should talk about this when we get home,” he suggested in a low voice but Maxim’s steady gaze did not budge. Timur searched for the right words during the pause, wishing he wasn’t forced to confront Maxim now. “You don’t see it? This dance we keep doing, where I take one step forward, you take two steps back. Sometimes you take five steps forward and I don’t have a clue what you want from me. Tell me what you fucking want, Maxim. Stop- stop _playing_ with me.”

The sharp look from those blue eyes could reopen Maxim’s wounds and the tone of Timur’s voice was a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. Maxim couldn’t find the strength to make eye contact, overwhelmed by his own shame, though this was not shame over who he was, but his behaviour towards him. “I…” he began but there was no coherent response that came to mind. All he could do was admit, “I don’t know.”

Timur’s shoulders tensed with frustration and he sucked on his cigarette, filling his lungs as if he hoped it would help quell his anger. The cigarette seemed to disgust him yet he took a drag like to dispel a bad taste lingering at the back of his throat, mask it with the taste of smoke because it was much more bearable. 

“Do you want _me?_ Or am I no different to you than some hookup? Because sometimes I feel like you’re doing all of this because you feel obligated to,” he said in a sudden outburst and the worst sensation settled in the pit of Maxim’s stomach. The knowledge that Timur was upset _at him._ “Just tell me how you feel. I can let you go, but don’t make me believe that we had something. I know _I_ ruined us but please, _please_ give me the truth. You’re fucking killing me.”

Timur’s eyes searched for answers, hoping that Maxim would grant him mercy in any shape or form, may that be in rejection or the confession he had dreamed of in ten million different possibilities. Before Maxim could give a tragic answer his concussed brain conjured at the last second, the door opened and they looked over. Alexsandr paused, realising he interrupted something.

“We’re leaving soon,” Alexsandr told them then he briskly left to give them some privacy.

In the heat of the moment with all his emotions boiling inside of him threatening to bubble over, Timur stubbed out his cigarette and left after Alexsandr, leaving Maxim standing on the walkway alone with his thoughts. He returned his gaze to the horizon where a number of trucks were on standby, idling as they waited for the operatives to file into them. This conversation would have to wait until later and Maxim decided he needed to use this time to sort out his thoughts, regardless of whether it was over a few hours or several days. Timur deserved it.

They didn’t sit next to each other for the flight home, nor did they speak during the afternoon and what led into the evening. It was safer that way. Maxim closed himself from the outside world while he tried to make sense of his disjointed feelings, of what he wanted in life and what his future held for him. The doctor back in Germany had specifically instructed him that alcohol and painkillers don’t mix, but Maxim was never one for listening to others or instilling good habits. 

He hoped the alcohol would rest his thoughts, dampen the overwhelming energy of it. 

Chain-smoking didn’t help, instead it only added to the suffocating tightening of his thoughts around him like a python squeezing each gasping breath from its prey. Yet he continued to do it, lighting one after the other in hopes maybe this one would help him cope.

If only Timur could save him, but after some reflection Maxim realised he needed to save himself. In a desperate struggle, he needed to confront not only his prejudices but who he was as a person, to accept that person. He loved Timur and perhaps in the same self-sacrificial manner as Timur longed after him, Maxim would expose himself to the very pain he had been avoiding for months now. 

For a while Maxim contemplated over this, this frightening knowledge that there was only one path he could take in pursuit of his happiness. He feared suffering, the mental anguish. It was always easier to bury his burdens deep and suppress them until the pressure of uncovering them became too dangerous to do and the only option was to ignore it. Although, he feared losing Timur far more. Maxim was afraid he wouldn’t be able to come across anyone else that had such unconditional patience, especially for him. To lose this warmth and be cast into cold solitude for the rest of his life, Maxim couldn’t bear the prospect of it.

The door to their dorms opened, releasing the smog of cigarette smoke that had been pent up inside the small space. Administration would have a word with Maxim soon, but at this moment he couldn't care less. He watched as Timur staggered in and wrinkled his nose at the pungent scent. By now he had gotten used to the smell, however Maxim always had the decency to step outside for a smoke. 

From the casual jeans and the t-shirt that clung to his torso, Timur had been down at the pub. Maxim could see it in his flushed cheeks and his unsteady movements. He questioned if he went out to drown his sorrows in pints of beer or if he’d gone to socialise. That didn’t matter. As Maxim rose to his feet, Timur withdrew his gaze to the floor, stiffening when he neared. 

“What do you want?” Timur’s voice was barely a mutter, his cold tone hoping to discourage Maxim but with no success. Maxim continued to pursue him when Timur stepped backwards. His body brushed against the closed door of their dorms and Maxim pressed his lips against Timur’s cheek, hoping it would remedy his broken heart. “Don’t do this to me,” Timur whispered and he clenched his jaw, imploring him to stop as he pressed his palm against Maxim’s chest, but he struggled to find the strength to deny him. “I can’t.”

Rejection constricted around Maxim’s chest and he tasted his own medicine, the bitter sting of the man he loved refusing his affections. “Listen to me.” He cupped Timur’s cheek to capture his eyes, hoping he would realise that his supplication was not driven by lust. “I- I want _you._ And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

There was only so much an apology could do. Timur closed his eyes for a moment and he took in a deep breath through his nose, the stench of the smoke making him nauseous and he choked up. He steeled his expression and shouldered past Maxim, stepping towards the centre of the room where he had his back turned to him. It wasn’t that Timur did not accept Maxim’s apology, but after so many fleeting moments where he had been led to believe that Maxim was capable of loving him, he did not know if he could trust him.

“I’ve been so… _confused_ for the longest time but the only thing I know is that I don’t want to be with anyone else but you, Timur. Maybe this is who I am, maybe I like men but- _fuck,_ all I know is that I want you, okay?” Maxim was losing his grasp on him and it filled every crevice of his body with an indescribable anxiety. Now these truths slipped from him and he did not know he was capable of speaking in such an honest, ardent way. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. And I keep wasting all my second-chances, I keep fucking up.”

Self-perseverance was part of survival and Timur wavered on the precipice of protecting himself or allowing himself to get hurt again. He turned to look at Maxim’s guilty expression. “You say this now but in a couple days time, you’ll run away like you always do,” he said, his voice trembling but he held himself together- barely. “But it’s fine, right? Because you’re concussed, you’re drunk, you’re only saying this because of the mission. And I’ll believe in what you say because I’m too _stupid_ and hopeful to think you love me.”

Timur’s words were laced with betrayal, of an abandonment that ran deep within. It devastated Maxim to hurt him like that and his throat ached, stiff with tension. 

“You say you don’t want to lose me. but when you pull away from me like that, every single damn time _I_ lose you. Do you have any idea how much it hurts?” Timur continued to speak, seeing as Maxim couldn’t think of anything to say. Then in a weak mumble, Timur managed to implore, “I just want you to love me back, Maxim.”

It was difficult to see tears glimmering in those blue eyes Maxim adored so much. While he always teased Timur for being soft, he knew that Timur wasn’t weak in any way. To watch him fall apart like this reminded Maxim of the anguish he caused Timur and nothing else could make him feel more like a monster than that.

“I do love you,” The confession slipped from Maxim. “And I want to love you but it’s not easy. I try so hard but my brain- my mind— If… if you will give me another chance, I want to make you happy, Timur. I’m tired of hurting you again and again, you deserve better. I’m trying so hard to change, if you will just- _please._ I’m sorry.”

At the first fall of his tears, Timur immediately wiped it away with the back of his hand and he swallowed back something painful. His hands balled into fists by his sides, he didn’t allow himself to cry. His lips, which pressed into a tight, thin line, quivered as he tried to speak but his emotions were overwhelming and he couldn’t utter a single word. 

There was a force that existed between the two of them, a gravitation which only grew stronger at the sight of Timur breaking and Maxim stepped forwards to gather him within his arms. His body trembled and shook, hot tears soaked the cotton of Maxim’s t-shirt where Timur buried his face into his neck, instinctively searching for the safe darkness. Maxim’s bruised ribs ached at their crushing embrace but he knew it would be a million times more agonising if he had to live a reality where they parted ways.

Holding Timur’s head steady, Maxim wiped away the tracks of his tears with his thumb then pressed his lips against Timur’s forehead. He peppered more kisses, one to the raised scar that intercepted Timur’s brow, another to the freckle on his right cheek before finding his lips. Timur accepted his kiss, taking in a shaky breath as he savoured the sensation and Maxim hoped his touch could placate him. He never liked seeing Timur cry and being the reason for it was all the worse.

There was a lasting silence where Timur managed to steady his sniffling breaths. Their foreheads made contact and remained touching as they held one another, not wanting to let go for even a second. It hadn’t crossed Maxim’s mind once that he was holding another man, loving him with all his heart. What used to consume his consciousness whole with wrongness and shame no longer had its hold over him and he wouldn’t allow it to. Timur was far more important to Maxim and he had earnestly taken in what Timur said. 

Maxim was done running away.

His palm ran in soothing circles on Timur’s muscled back, smoothing over the warm cotton of his shirt and he nuzzled his face against Timur’s. The sensation of his overgrown stubble made the corners of Timur’s lips flicker upwards at the ticklish feeling and he looked at Maxim in such a gentle manner that had his chest tightening at the very idea that such an ethereal being loved him. 

Enthralled by _him,_ his blue eyes, the heat radiating from his body to his absolute, unwarranted devotion, Maxim could barely comprehend his own feelings for Timur in that very moment. To be graced with such forgiveness after everything, Maxim felt like he had been granted salvation. All he knew was that he desired growth, to become the person Timur deserved, to bloom into someone he deserved for himself too.

To cultivate an unyielding love for the man within his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last night (morning, since it was like 5am) I was doing some editing and I was thinking of all the stuff I wanted to write in the author's note but now that I'm actually writing it I have no clue how to go about it other than a huge ramble, so feel free to skip this if you don't care. Anyways, I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me so far. I've received all kinds of responses and feedback, and all of them mean a lot to me. I don't know how I can thank you guys any more than the twenty different variations of 'thanks for taking the time to comment' because at the end of the day, I'm flattered that you took the time to read my work then tell me what you thought of it. It honestly brings me a lot of joy and happiness when I read your comment and see your reactions to certain things or how you perceive my characters. 
> 
> This story is particularly special to me because it's been a long time since I've been so passionate about writing anything. When I started writing this in late January, I was writing almost everyday for this, usually putting out around 1k or more and that productivity does not come often for me. By the end of February I'd finished all of it and then I set off to uploading this to AO3. Since then, I've been sort of expecting the feeling of 'gosh, I hate this' or 'why did I write this' like I had with some of my other fics but thankfully I still really 'love' this fic. 
> 
> As of recently I've been exploring themes which are personal to me, namely being sexuality, and I realise that I do enjoy writing those themes and navigating how different characters handle these things. Before that, I had been writing genres that I didn't particularly enjoy under the idea that they would be received more positively and they have, but now I feel like I'm writing for myself. After some thought on this story, Maxim's story stems largely from inner conflict, whether that be his internalised homophobia or his fear of losing others, to his desire to love, his fear of losing Timur and losing the opportunity to love him. His struggle with changing the way he thinks which affects his actions, his difficulty with his own emotions and guilt, these were all things I was trying to explore. Whether I've done this well enough or not, I do take this as a learning experience and I found it really enjoyable.
> 
> There wasn't a whole lot of insight to Timur's perspective in this story and I was aware of that, since it is mostly third person limited from the point of view of Maxim. There's a lot more going under the surface which I feel like I couldn't really brush upon without completely deviating from the style of 'looking over' Maxim's shoulder and the way this story has panned out doesn't make it a suitable medium for a giant info-dump on my Timur headcanons. I have considered writing a little bit on Timur's perspective which would explain his somewhat masochistic perseverance but if I ever get around to that, I'll include it into this 'series.'
> 
> Once again, I'm so thankful for your support. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Edit 100420: Once again [@MasterOfNootART](https://twitter.com/MasterOfNootART) has made some fantastic art which is featured in this chapter (as well as chapter six!) Thank you so very much <3

**Author's Note:**

> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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